The sun slants amber rays across the backs of the trees, warming them and shining through the the thinning foliage. The tangle of fines and branches, deeply mysterious in its shadows, is back-lit with a golden glow.
The faces of the bushes are cool with reflected light from the sky. The porch is dark with wetness, except for a paler section close to the building where it was sheltered by the roof's overhang. Another pale, thin line cuts across the middle of the porch, the stain worn away by the relentless pounding of wet drips from the overhang.
It has been a mild, spring-like day, cool-winded and full of warm sun. There is no snow here, no icicles hanging from the edges of the roof, no icy puddles, no winter wonderland. Brown leaves carpet the ground, and the majority of the bushes have refused to shed their leaves whatsoever.
A fluffy, white and grey dog runs underneath the back porch, followed by a dark woman with high cheek bones. Her many-braided hair is pulled up in a half-knot behind her head, the tails hanging down to the back of her neck. She steps back around the corner of the building, out of sight, where the back porch cannot see her.
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