On an unseasonably warm Indian summer’s day in late October, she travelled westwards, to enjoy the bright blue skies and look at brightly-feathered birds.
She sat where Rogers sat and thought about all the other people who had sat in the same place.
She admired the golden roses and green ivy outside the Ice House.
Although she was sad to see find some grapes withered on the vine, she admired their autumn colours.
Nearby, she found some grapes that would never wither.
The strange flowers on the fig tree reminded her of christmas.
She wandered past the playing field as the sun began to go down, and was happy to be right where she was.
(This is a companion piece/sequel to this post.)