Longing for
structure and order

No, not the untended old arboretum with its chaos. Somewhere inside of me, I’m sure, there’s chaos as well. I’ll battle that with clarity and order. I turn my back to the river and pedal faster, laboriously working myself uphill.

The iron gate is freshly painted and open. Off the bike, lock it and enter. The air is frostier up here. The sun illuminates neatly organised squares of lawn, the cut hedges cast a geometric pattern of shades. A game of non-changing light and dark greens, untouched by the seasons. 

I’m drawn towards the viewpoint, a balcony with its vistas of the sea. Stepping onto it and leaning over, letting the marble press against my gut. The sea looks wild and windy. Washing onto the sand, blowing the dunes kisses. 

  “Look there are people in the dunes.” A voice beside me. “Off the path. Where it’s forbidden to walk. Isn’t it forbidden to cross that rope fence down there?”

  “Ah yes, you’re right.” An uninterested second voice.

  “Some people just can’t adhere to the rules.”

  “Yes, you’ll always have some of those.”

  “Hm.”

I turn away and face the building. The manor house’s heavy walls contrast the baby blue skies. Strolling down one of the symmetrically spaced paths, towards the impressive façade. 

Something red behind a bend, a stark contrast to all the green: a woman using hair dye to showcase her self-esteem. Sat on a bench, a large sketching pad, capturing all the clear lines I was just noticing with pencil, grey like her expensive suit. A red hair clip, matching the dye, in the shape of butterfly wings. As obviously designed as her surroundings she is a picture inside a picture, drawing a picture of the picture that surrounds her. She’s heard me, she’s turning, looking at me.

I give her a polite nod

and walk on.