An intact water jug. Something smells beneath that pile of flimsy beams. Farther on a putrefying, shrinking cow, its sepulchre An open basin of hard and sub-baked mud. Only its Hide remains. A bible there, open to The Psalms.
Souvenirs are here.
But none are taken Except one. A book bag, muddied, still intact. But more of that to come. No hoof prints, tire tracks or marks of cleats. Just hard, cracked mud, a Mile wide, perhaps.