On a turn in the road between ford and end, a lane breaks away. At first, bifurcated, encompassing a perfect triangle of lawn, negative space in the minor infrastructure – a kindness to turning automobiles from either west or south. The scattered outbuildings of houses built on generous rural plots, and, further from the road, pink plastered walls supporting a pristine thatch. Nearby, wind chimes intone a Corinthian chord. Here, a modest fence, a canvas for climbing plants since removed. Their shadows remain, etched into the wood, tributaries feeding mighty channels flowing up to the sky.