the garden
She stands up in the garden where she has been working and looks into the distance. She has sensed a shift in the weather. There is another gust of wind, a buckle of noise in the air, and the tall cypresses sway. She turns and moves uphill towards the house, climbing over a low wall, feeling the first drops of rain on her bare arms. She crosses the loggia and quickly enters the house.
In the kitchen she doesn't pause but goes through it and climbs the stairs which are in darkness and then continues along the long hall, at the end of which is a wedge of light form an open door.
She turns into the room which is another garden-- this one made up of trees and bowers painted over its walls and ceiling. The man lies on the bed, his body to the breeze, and he turns his head slowly towards her as she enters.
In the kitchen she doesn't pause but goes through it and climbs the stairs which are in darkness and then continues along the long hall, at the end of which is a wedge of light form an open door.
She turns into the room which is another garden-- this one made up of trees and bowers painted over its walls and ceiling. The man lies on the bed, his body to the breeze, and he turns his head slowly towards her as she enters.