Just up the lane from the ditch with the lilies stood a garden gate, one that had the appearance of looking like it had not been opened for years.
The path itself led up to a door, the red paint fading, half hidden by a tree shrouded in ivy trails. Bright green ferns sprung from the path side, underlining the vibrant presence of nature.
But what of the house? The worn stone steps told us that the threshold had been crossed many times, though how recent was that last step taken? A car sits to the side of the house, the only indication that there maybe someone home. The windows provide no clue, draped in heavy net curtains and hidden by the encroaching garden.