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It was late summer: the air was still, hot and heavy, with the promise of thunderstorms. As if to back up the promise, far off on the horizon loomed a wall of thunderheads towering up far into sky. There they stood with little prospect of coming closer in the still air, and yet little by little throughout the afternoon they advanced across the rolling lush countryside.

As the afternoon became steadily warmer Eloise decided that it was not a day for work, but for reflection. She had always found the best place to think was in the leafy woods which bordered the field at the back of her farm. The woods were old, full of mossy grottos, and sheltered bowers - a place of nymphs and satyrs, or at least love-lorn couples. Eloise had explored the secret places hidden by deep undergrowth for many years and had found places which it seemed that few had ever explored. Amongst these was a large cleft in rock which formed a pool into which the summer sun poured. Eloise had noticed what appeared to be centuries of undisturbed mossy growth around the pool and thought that this was very likely one the of the woods truely secret delights.

She was always careful when visiting the places she thought of as secret bowers to leave no trace of her passage: partly she did not want their secrets to be ravaged by the passage of many feet, but mostly she wanted their existence to be a secret only she shared with nature. On reaching the edge of the wood she walked along one of its many well established path until she reached the point which she recognized as ...

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