For a moment things would be real to her,
as when they drove round a wide turning in the road
and she saw a thatched yellow cottage standing in the embrace of the turn,
plum-coloured mountains and a violent green field beyond it,
and hanging heavy over the stone wall an elder tree heavy in fruit.
So heavy the berries had grown that their flat growth fell forwards
and downwards showing their backs, a web of berries, like pigeons' red feet.
Only by moments such as this was she entirely conscious.
Full House by Molly Keane