The dreamt landscape of The Ayres provokes a little fear
Such as that felt by dogs for their masters
Croft nearby, long gone
Reason for planting this copse of trees is unclear
Unclear
Held shot
Static camera
This allows the imagination to enter
What will occur here?
Allow the characters to enter separately please
The copse, a stage
Let them act out what this place implies

Woman, mid thirties, trouser suit, dark blue
Small case which she places carefully down, and then picks up again
Every ten steps she does this as if carrying something very heavy
Sunlight
Herself at the edge of clouds
Shadows, clean shadows, cloud shadows
Seen now from further away
Wide screen
Slow progress of her steps towards the trees
The trees barely move in the wind
The geography of the sky mapped out on the land
We reflect
Who wishes to read it?

Cut to close-up of the case covered in stickers
Hotels in France, Germany, America
Case edged in black
Camera closer still
Camera closer still
Something inside
Some history, some kind of history
A scratching noise
Scratching noise

Close up of her face
Looks directly into the camera
Descend into slow motion as she closes her eyes
Cut to darkness

The case interior
Scratch
Scratch
Scratch
Scratch

History
Why bring history here?
Last thing that happened here was a glacier
Then the copse, nothing else
This place does not encourage event other than nature, which it could not prevent
It would have done if it could have done
Why bring history here?

Rainfall
Second character emerges from the dunes
Avoids the remains of a fire
Broken bottle glass
Perhaps he is part of the rain
Sudden grey eyes, shifting
How does the rain appear?
He appears middle aged, black suit, pained
Runs a hand through the hair, overlong, un-businesslike
A tattoo on the back of the left hand
Cassiopeia, the constellation, picked out in tiny blue dots
What does he represent?
What coalesced within him
The outward signs indicate purpose
And unease
He is ours to guess upon

Cut to shot amongst trees
Sound of breath
Sighs
Low notes

Perhaps a cello
Movements at the boundary
Not the characters so far introduced
Others are here
We are not close enough to identify
Unfocused
Show the faces you have
Please show the faces you have
No, never mind

Cut to darkness
Cut to a shot of the copse
Sky altered
Darker, darker
Perhaps we have woken up something

Plane overhead, light aircraft
A distracting narrative

Another character
We see only his back
He holds a book
How long do we see him?
He holds a book
What book?
Show your face
Show your face

I can't make them
Why can't I make them?

They are not my characters
These are not my characters
These are not my characters
These are not my characters
They are not mine
They are not mine

The coalesced figures at the edge of the frame darting now
Footfall on dead ground
They are barely here
As I am barely here
As I am barely in this place

Reveal the book, the fiction
Reveal the fiction
Holds it to his face
Turns to camera

Airplane noises return
Man disappears
Book becomes transparent
Layered words drift through the frame
Reappear
Distant now
Becoming several movements obscured by text

Scene fades
A few words stay
Unfocused
Unwelcome
Unfocused
Unwelcome
Unfocused
Unwelcome
Unfocused
Unwelcome

Listen A Copse of Trees Now