That garden stretched quietly in front of the Victorian house, its colors softened and subdued, as if veiled by a gentle, muted haze. Broken, short walls of cubic stone bricks rounded the area, their edges softened by the years. Overgrown ivy trailed up and along the stone walls that bordered the property, as if the garden had been left unattended for a long time.

Patches and tufts of weed were amongst the grasses, blades of the greenery brushing your ankle as you sped up the steps, small dots of sage popping from the cracks on the stone. It’s a wonderfully bright day. Days have become much less gloomy without the smog, allowing for everyone to feel the warm embrace of sunlight again. Even better, the Uluru games were on once again, and their recently returning competitor had won the qualifiers.

..And, you were late to watch her practice. You quickly knocked the door, but it pushed open slightly. Willow had started without you. Entering, the place is quite dark. With a few practiced steps, you made your way to where she was, dressed in attire fit for a champion floor ritualist, already practicing.

“Late again, eh? Quite the person you are, thinking I’d wait forever. What’s happened this time? Did my garden grow into a hedge maze?”

The ‘black swan’s’ arms and legs extended in an elegant arabesque, the wand in her hand producing that violet and blue ribbon-like trail, looping around her like halos of ocean shades. Despite the usual harshness and sarcasm in her words, she remained most poised. While waiting for your answer, she went back to reciting the lines of her ritual. ‘Lugh of the Long Arm, bright god of light..’