The path she chose could have take her over land and over water. It took her many places she'd never thought it would.
Right now she was in a garden, a garden full of flyblown rose bushes, wizened vines, a willow tree drooping. There was a stone wall around the garden, crumbling. It smelled of moss and petrichor and autumns long past. It smelled like long-faded perfume. When the wind blew and the leaves rustled there was the sound of children laughing.
There were memories in the stones of the garden wall. They spoke in the quietest voices, like the voices of phantoms. Their colours were the shadows of colours. She wiped them off her skin as she walked down the path. They clung to her like sugar on your fingers.
They blew away in the wind when she left the garden.
Art by Woraya Chotikul
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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