She wound down dark stone passageways, the air cold and musty, long undisturbed by breath or footfall. At last it began to slope upward, gradually, but decidedly so, until she came upon an old wood door. Thin beams of light slipped through the cracks along the doorframe. She tentatively tried the solid iron handle and it slowly creaked open.
She blinked against the bright sunlight. Her feet found the smooth stones of an old path, lined with clovers threatening to reclaim the ground as their own. The path ran between crumbling walls overgrown with climbing ivy, hidden behind flowering bushes which had once been tame, but now were only barely maintained. And then the walls peeled aside to give way to a beautiful wild garden.
She hurried now, out into the garden. Trellises stood, weighed down by floral vines, and benches still sat among the flowers beneath the aged trees, and through the garden ran a bubbling stream. And above the quiet rhythm of the stream, she heard a beautiful voice begin to sing.
Standing upon the bridge was a beautiful woman in choral robes, her voice raised in song.
Writer's Month - word: bridge | setting: secret garden
AUgust - Choir