Vote for Tomorrow

Out for a quick walk around the block, I looked across the street to the vacant lot. This fall, someone had brought in machinery and levelled the south half of it, stripped it down to the bare gravel, abandoned a bucket there, and disappeared. The bare earth has been sitting there, ever since, staring bleakly at the sky.

But on the far side, a few trees provide habitat for crows:

Lookout and nest.

I noticed their reflections in some newish puddles, and we walked over to look.


The ground underfoot was a mix of fairly solid gravel, and soft mud. Some of the grasses are beginning their work of reclamation. Again.

Oak leaf on mud-stained, wind-blown paper.

The bucket of the backhoe, rusting out.

And in the biggest of the puddles, (still only a few inches deep) a pair of mallards rested:

"Not much to eat here, but at least we have it to ourselves."

At the end of this puddle, there is a message.

"Vote for tomorrow. Vote Green."

Unfortunately, no-one was listening.

.