in some book of almost stories, i find emily resting for a long time in a clearing, her branches full of blossoms, watched and studied. she would be one to feel a strangers eyes on her, and i think she might welcome it for a time. but, with all things, she will move on.
i have a thought of her stirring as from some deep sleep, and as she rises, leaving a slow rain of petals behind her, a little keepsake for her timid observer.
more pen drawings on flickr, under the title "laboured error".