Behind almost all things
Where the trees meet the edge of the frame
It could have been not this but that
In the distance is a darker shape
Its  position decided on a collection.


Falling like snow without regularity
The canvas surface is patches of colour
Horizontals and verticals intersect
The park with its green avenues
Glides in and out of a century of stories.


Its conclusion resting
On a final brush stroke.

Love Mary xxxxx