It’s midnight. The photo is a landscape-orientation, black and white image, lit solely by the moon in the light-polluted sky, bathing the scene in a smooth glow of light. The hill I stand before is silent… and barren. It envelopes the view in the image, without a single blade of grass to be seen, except at the highest point, where the last tree and accompanying shrubbery stand firmly, oblivious to what is happening. The peak of the hill lies at the upper third of the image, with the base ending at the bottom of the image. The lone tree is backdropped by the light-polluted sky, with clouds bellowing in the distance. The soil of the side of the hill facing me is all that’s left. Its surface is scarred with five parallel grooves vertically down the right side of the hill bisecting the right third of the image. These are the marks left by an excavator’s scoop, hinting to the extensive construction work that has been done to the hill.