Peering beyond the understory: a Victorian ******* of square topiaries white pavement marbled fringe, the visionary leaps into the crisp chlorine freezing in an iceblock if she remains til she is grey.
But she crawls out of this boxed madness, emotional baggage forcefully drilled into Her womb. She emerges from a pond in a wooded world remote yet available to all who seek it. An unsure path to the cottage where the witch works her wondrous magic bringing birds and butterflies to aid in potion incantations She mows no lawns. She knows the name of every leaf and berry. She sows them in her sleep