Woodland manor

It stands on a hill – Woodland Manor. The impressive
mansion that embraces the countryside stands forthright,
unburdened by the ravages of time.

Silver birch and horse chestnut, hold space for the
creatures who roam the luscious land. Deciduous and
evergreen stand judiciously against the evening sky.
Hawthorn, beech, ash, sycamore, spruce and pussy willow,
all protect its innermost secrets.

The morning sun lights up the heavens. Rays create a
dreamlike, euphoric state. Mesmerisingly beautiful. A new
day is dawning. Flowers bloom in lonely fields. They raise
their faces to the sun. Beckon to the bees, dragonflies,
field mice, and a myriad of insects who feast on a panoply
of cornflowers, field poppies, foxglove and cowslip.

The resplendent evening comes around. Bright hues of
reds and pink stretch across the sun-drenched sky. The
land is at peace. The animals. The insects. The birds. Their
work almost done. At least for another day.

There are ghosts they say, that wander through the many
rooms of Woodland Manor. Silver grey spectres know
not they are dead. They call for their loved ones who no
longer see, or hear them. For they too are dead. They too
are long gone.