Academy Meadow

Dew lies heavy on a walled rectangle of long meadow grass, and mist is still lifting off the mown paths. Those paths curve through it in two linked loops, so the tall grass between them stands untrampled. Its corners are left wild on purpose. In the centre leans an old pear tree, crooked with age, its heaviest limbs propped on two crutches of forked timber. A waist-high wall of pale fieldstone runs round the whole of it. Along the south wall, a border of flowers that has seeded itself for generations makes a ragged line of colour: poppy red, cornflower blue, tansy yellow. On one side the round arches of a stone cloister close the meadow off, with a small gate standing open between them. By the wall lies a flat stone, worn as smooth as soap. Beyond the far wall, orchards climb away in soft green rows. Early morning, a little overgrown, completely still.