ENTRY · 001
Entries transcribed from weathered pages, ink smudged by rain, annotated in the margins by whoever came after.
Counted thirty-one species of moss between the abandoned overpass and the creek bed. The concrete is soft now.
— obs. K.H.First fiddlehead of the season, unfurling beside a faded tag on the retaining wall. Nature reclaims in small, patient increments.
— obs. R.V.Found a fox trail crossing through the shut-down lot on Eighth. Paw prints in the wet cement, accidentally preserved forever.
— obs. M.O.