[hope is the thing with feathers]

The mist descended over the high brick walls, trailing over it like something that could crawl, and it coiled around her legs, swirling and then vanishing then swirling back again. It was almost palpable, but every motion of air sent it skittering away again for a moment.

The path had opened into a courtyard, still paved with brick and worn, but empty now. It managed to look unused and hidden despite the weeds having no hold. It was waiting.

She wondered what it might be waiting for. It had no obvious exits save the way she’d just come. Brick and iron enclosed it, though the brick was worn all the way to the edges in places, as if the walls were new.

There was a single bench, wrought iron like the fence. She sat.

She looked up at the sky, still dark with what might be clouds if they weren’t reaching down to touch her. Nothing moved. Not a living creature could be seen, even the marsh on the other side of the iron fence was silent, not a frog nor bird.

Except the one standing in the center of the courtyard, hopping and pecking at insects she couldn’t see, a brief moment of sunlight breaking through the fog and spinning across the courtyard before vanishing again.

“Where did you come from?”

The bird’s hop looked a little like a shrug, she thought.

“Right here, I suppose.” The voice that spoke was a man’s voice, though gentle.

“Wh...” She trailed off, looking for the source of the voice and eyeing the bird suspiciously.

“No, here.” A man was standing beside the wall opposite her. She was certain he hadn’t come in down the path she’d been on.

“I think the fog’s playing tricks on me.”

“Well, it’s not the fog doing the playing,” The man spoke. He was soft, all around. Not tall nor short, and almost everything about him was slightly crumpled. He moved his mouth a little like he was chasing a stray marble around inside it while he talked. He flashed her a grin, a little late, like he had to convince his mouth to do what he told it. He wore a leather apron, as if he had just stepped out of his workshop, and his thinning white hair was combed over the top of his head, making a sort of fuzzy haze about him, and leaving a white tuft behind his head.

He stepped to the side, and suddenly she saw what had happened. The brick wall was cleverly cut, arranged just so that anyone sitting or standing on the opposite side couldn’t see the opening, but if someone stood in it, you could see the bricks for what they were, and what looked like an innocent piece of ivy was really the distraction that let the whole thing work.

“Trompe l’oil, only in brick” The man looked proud as he stepped back out of the opening, and her brain was confused for a moment, then forgot that it had seen anything out of the ordinary. “My name’s Harald, and welcome to my garden.” He half-bowed. She decided she liked him. “You can come see the rest if you like. It’s just behind the wall.”

Another small burst of sun from behind the fog, and the bird stopped hopping across the courtyard and took flight, right back through the opening, seeming to vanish mid-flight.

Now the path seeming to be worn right up to the wall made sense. She followed Harald and the bird, and still did a double-take as she moved far enough for the opening to become apparent. Seemingly out of nothing, the path crawled between the brick walls, leaving space for itself as she moved past it. The effect depended on the exact angle, and when she moved past it, it ceased to be a magic opening and just became another wall. Still, she thought, it was exceptionally clever.

The garden on the other side of the wall didn’t perplex her like the wall, but it was extremely tidy. Neat gravel paths were packed between wooden boxes containing the flower beds and hedges. Roses of every color burst forth from them, some were trailing vines with delicate flowers, climbing up the terrace toward the house that towered above them, looking like a crooked outpost against the slate colored sky, while others were showy blooms the size of her head, seeming to barely cling to their bushes, the thin branches having to be staked upright to keep the flowers from toppling the plant entirely. 

The vivid colors and freshness seemed all the more surreal with the fog tugging at the edges, swirling around her feet. 

She followed Harald not twenty paces before he pulled a pocket watch out of the apron and glanced at it, then turned to her and said “I’ll be right back”, and before she could turn to follow, he vanished down one of the paths.

She tried to catch up with him, but a few stort steps down the path and it split before her, and she realized that the garden was a maze. She wasn’t sure which way he’d gone. 

She stepped back toward the entrance, or so she thought, but where she thought it should be, she found only another dense row of hedge and flowers. She turned around and noticed that what she thought was a solid hedgerow was actually backed up to an arched arbor, barely as tall underneath as she was. That must have been where he went. She ducked underneath and followed the path.

Eight steps put her in what looked like a Roman garden, with careful urns of herbs and lavender. She was sure she had seen it in a painting or maybe a history textbook at school. The path seemed to make an exit at the other side. 

She realized it wasn’t as simple as that when she took a step into the courtyard. The perspective shifted and she saw that the far end was much closer, and what had looked like a mirror image of where she stood was only knee-high. The illusion shattered, and just a few steps away, what she thought was the path turned out to be only a tiny gap in the hedgerow, not fit for any creature bigger than a cat.

She sighed and turned around. She wasn’t sure she liked that the ground itself would play tricks on her. She spotted the exit almost next to the entrance, a little gap in the hedgerow tucked behind a potted cedar in the corner. Tricky.