Pear Tree and Lake Gravendon
We walk in unfrequented alleyways but in my worn, gray clothes I look out-of-place even there. Tom stops at a wrought-iron fence set in a brick wall, looks around and slips through the gap left by the loose chain the gate is bound with. I have no problem following him.
We get into a neglected garden that has seen better days. The dry and yellowed grass hits me at mid-thigh. On the left-hand side an untended rose-garden is blooming with what looks like millions of flowers. I can smell the sweet scent from where I stand. Tom leaves off in the opposite direction towards some tall trees. He climbs one like he owns the place, and I climb after him. From the top of the tree, we can really see a lake in the distance. As it turns out Lake Gravendon is part of the lan
