A small studded
gothic doorway leads out into a long avenue of lime trees that
have joined far overhead, forming a structure very similar to
that of a church with tall pillars soaring to a fan vaulted roof,
except that the path between the avenue curves and gracefully
descends a sweeping hillside. The sensation is that of being
inside a long sloping corridor formed from a tall cathedral nave.
Sunlight falls through the leaves in long shafts of dusty yellow.
There is a mist of bluebells on the ground.
Some ruined stain glass windows are set between the trees, which
have grown around them and the remains of their stone tracery
over hundreds of years. The light pours in through missing panes.
I can see shadowy marble and stone statues also embedded at intervals
between the tall trunks. Some are askew and almost completely
absorbed by the thick tangle. Often only a single hand or part
of a face is left protruding from between the crowding trees.
Some statues and masonry must be completely obscured within the
ever growing avenue, and all are lifted many feet from the floor
by the slow, inexorable upward movement of growth.
As dusk begins to gather, people wander in and out of the remaining
spaces between these trees, crossing paths from every direction.
Rooks wheel and caw outside. White doves and pigeons clatter
inside among the living eaves.
There are rows of lighted white candles, taller than a man. The
candles' slow meltings have covered their brass holders with
overhanging white stalactites. Huge oak tables bear heavy silver
bowls of crab, lobster, oysters, scallops, all covered in shining
broken ice. Big earthenware pots of game pies and meat and fish
pastries. Racks of dusty wine bottles and oak casks of distilled
spirits. Wax sealed crocks of liqueurs. Gold and silver bowls
of exotic fruits. Candles, candelabra, incense. Iridescent moths
circle the candle flames. Fireflies glimmer in the dim foliage
overhead. |
