

A woman stands alone in a walled garden of heavy ripe vines, with a hooded bird resting on her gloved hand.
She is alone and it is not loneliness. Everything in her posture is ease. This is somebody standing in her own garden at the end of the afternoon.
The garden is walled. She built the wall and she is inside it by choice.
The bird on her hand is hooded, which is a falconer's bird, trained. Something wild that agreed to come back. She has done that work too.
Her glove is the only protection in the picture. One hand covered for the bird's talons, everything else exposed and unguarded.
A house stands behind her. Hers.
The vines are heavy with fruit and she is not eating any of it.
She is simply standing among it.
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