From dust to salt lies the thread of our city, a vein wrapped in concrete—the hidden line that connects the valley to the sea.

Once the main source of fresh water in Los Angeles, the LA River—historically known by the Tongva as Paayme Paxaayt (or 'West River')—belongs now to the detritus of forgotten things.

It is within this repository that the great blue heron perches upon the burnt-orange rust of an overturned shopping cart. Hollowed carcasses need not hold tight for fear of being swept away.

Along the concrete banks, one wonders what—and who—will be found.