Sometimes since I’ve been in the garden I’ve looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something was pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden — in all places.
~ Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
The day begins with a blood-red sky, a flap of wings, the remains of man’s flight streaked across alternating bands of light and dark.