The sun was sharp as she entered the lane.
She found a point where enough of the wall
had tumbled – through neglect or misuse –
for her to climb the rough, sandstone blocks with ease.
She was in a forest of rhododendron,
dark leaves a foil to extravagant flowers –
rich, vivid reds, pinks, purples, lilacs, whites,
an exotic palette, almost sensual.
Though the sun was distilled, the air was humid.
She thought of what little she had left.
The silence was dense. What insects there were