"There was the most disquieting dream she used to have, always after the migration of the gulls--
In it there was a pond, and in the water stood a red bird, waiting, but not for her, something she knew with the certainty that only a dreamer possessed.
The sun in the distance was warm, and sweetly so, yet the light that shone on her was a cold blue.
She held a pile of weeds in her hand. They felt dried out, like they had been left in the autumn air too long. She walked towards the bird, but every step widened the distance between them, and there was something breathing behind her, a few feet away. It would get closer and closer until it would be at her back. Then she turned around and awoke, alone in her room, feeling haunted--or maybe hunted."
Fleshing out some stories, working on my landscapes~~~