...The two trees twined their bodies in the middle of the sea. Was this a dream?...

The countess leaned back to the leather seat. She silently bit over her paled lips with exertion to forestall her tears from flowing down her white face. The girl was looking to the side of the road and the waves as they were splashing upon one another on the rocks. Lucrecia-Constança strained her eyes to the distance, between the dry and yellowed thorns, there she saw the lively swaying marks of splashed vermilion. There, amidst the meadow, swayed flecks of red poppies as the yellowed grass trembled low with the bubbling of the small creeks. Amongst the hardness of the dry earth they whispered in tongues unknown and forgotten. Lone, Lucrecia took ear, listening to their words of no flesh, the earthen murmurs of the void and the lost distant whiffs of time. In the hissing of the teapot with chamomile or the wet candle lit in the chapel, the cracking of the old door or the barefoot tremble of her feet upon the garden, she heard them then. She whispered to them, may they come to her in the night, when sleep was but a traitor and it would turn its back on her. She called out every colour, every branch, every grass she knew and they answered back to her lovingly, awaking in the dark, they knew her by her voice.

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