They have a poetry of their own - such spaces embodying a feeling of (to borrow one of SO'P's favourite terms) feral return to a primal condition - like a pack of dogs running wild through a council estate. Not safely domesticated but not untouched by mans shaping intervention either. They can be filled with ghostly echos of what once was, and a sense of the cold imperceptably relentless drip-drip of time, which inevitably consumes all things made. Purely an ambience thing I guess.

Did I mention I like old graveyards too, especially for camping in and having picnics ;-)