 | [?] made three seasons There’s a road in France you might have been down, with even-spaced lime trees along each side – the gaps between the trees are not exits but pale green windows – the first shapes of sunlight on high roofs. I travelled along that road in spring; but now it is autumn and the forecast rain has not quite yet fallen, the scene still lies like a single brushstroke: ‘There is no need anymore, to be sure’ she said, but oh, please see – something happened here. |
