Enter into the short stretch of a rural bike path where a bridge crosses the river.
The day is surprisingly warm, a heat wave in late winter, and the path is full of people enjoying the weather. The wide wooden planks of the bridge bake in the sun, stretching out over the shallow waters. The water is clear, and looking down, one can see small fish schooling among the rocks.
As the river flows, it expands out into a flooded lowland. Dead trees tower, pale and stark, over the thin waters. There are two houses sunk in this flood. Their gaping windows stare darkly at the passers-by, a reminder of future ruin. One looks colonial, and very old. Rotting wooden slats cover the angular building, slowly weighing and caving in the pointed roof. The other is a Victorian, red paint still chipping away and leaching into the water. It still has glass in some of the windows, clear enough to look through and see the moulding, recently abandoned interior. Nobody looks inside.