Abandoned Manor House, near Paris. Abandoned houses always make me think. What happened in that house? Was anybody ever born in there? Did anybody die? The people may leave the house, but the memories don't.
These trees mark the time. I watch, disengaged from their dance, and sit alone. I've fallen to the side a bit; I've begun to slump. My people won't return now. These trees will be my guardians. They shall live within me, now.