Cathy
The unease I felt in the garden that day continued. I watched as the trees slowly died, the ivy green dwindling to autumn hues, like paint brushes dipped in crimson and orange smudging over the horizon. I often missed the willow outside of the cottage; it was not only beautiful in the fall, but felt like a protector, as if it was always watching over us.
Now, it felt like we were being watched in a different way.
The silhouettes of gowns and coats in the closet suddenly seemed more alarming, and the weight upon my skin felt heavier, not only the hair standing up but eyes. Eyes in my window, eyes in the garden, eyes in the trees. I often found myself peering around walls I did not care for prior, slowly counting each step and breath walking into a dark
