In a far corner of the walled garden the tallest of the trees stands shaking its pyramid of green against the rich blue of the sky. The wind rushes against it and its leaves bowl and tumble back and forth.
Ivy climbs the crumbling brickwork of a small cave-like building that could once have been a stable. The leaves hang over its entrance, the thick climbing branches stretch like fingers accross its windows.
From the beds of lush green foliage the sudden red and purple of unknown flowers spring forth. Smaller kindly looking trees lean in to offer them shade, their branches drooping like a dog's uncut fringe, as if they are hiding eyes.
The shaded bench is wet, the gardener's hose must have swung past this spot only recently. The effect is strangley tropical and allows one to imagine a lake or pool, as if these small fragments of water could be the memory of something larger.
The traffic washes by, the birds screech and chirrup. One bird stands out above all others. It whistles and repeats:
Woop! Coo coo coo coo coo
As I write, she lowers her voice as if she knew I were listening and taking this as a cue, I check my watch and make my way over to the river.
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