Darkness closed around the little garden, the only light emanating from a candle in the window of an old woebegone cottage close by. Cool rain fell to the ground, drizzling down from the cloudy night sky above, almost as if it had nothing better to do then dampen the fertile soil. Little gusts of moisture-laden wind rustled through the flower beds and gently moved the leaves of the great weeping willow. Each dark rose petal dripped with fat droplets, shrugging off the weight of the water before the dampness settled once again on their soft surfaces. Ivy, twining around the aged fence-posts, stretched out its glossy leaves, hoping for more light by which to grow by and finding none. The soil smelled of the damp, while puddles formed in its dips and hollows. Only the pitter-patter of rain into the puddles was audible, drowning out all soft coos and squeaks from the tiny animals in the garden and the restless rustling of the plants. Lightning forked through the sky, illuminating it all, the tree, the flowers and the mucky ground, for a split second before leaving it once again cloaked in the darkness of the rain.