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