She stood tall and silent, staring out of the window at the gate at the edge of the garden. She had been waiting. For him. Of course. The sun cast shadows across the trees and the flowers, fluttering in the breeze, standing tall and silent. And waiting. She watched the darkness creep across the lawn, stretching closer and closer to where she stood. She did not see, her imagination was freed. Those wild and fantastical dreams. Those secret, hidden hopes she had dared to believe.
The moon rose swiftly and in its light she saw clearly for the first time. The trees were bare, they had lost their leaves long ago. And the flowers were dull and dead. The stood tall and silent mocking her. Bitterly disappointed at her futile thoughts, building realities where there were none. But she could not turn away. So still she waited. Small and silent. Yearning for the gate to open.
He knew the shadows had grown since he left. He knew that the leaves had fallen and outside the gate the weeds had grown around the tender trees. He knew. But high in the branches of the sturdiest tree, a tiny blossom opened and the mocking hills were made to bow as a silhouetted figure formed on the misty horizon. A hope that had flickered precariously in the bitter winds of night burned once more, growing deep and strong as the moon fell into the dawn.
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