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[Good morning, Garden. Zinc is in the small rectangular courtyard of her little white house. She has a basket at her hip, plucking down the strange little fruits from its branches. They look like apples, but you may remember that's not quite right.
When she realizes she has the vines attention she pauses, looking pensive for a moment.]
Where have the birds gone?
[She is up frequently in the early morning, she is used to hearing them outside. She had even made them feeders, but they are all empty. She gazes at them sadly.]
When she realizes she has the vines attention she pauses, looking pensive for a moment.]
Where have the birds gone?
[She is up frequently in the early morning, she is used to hearing them outside. She had even made them feeders, but they are all empty. She gazes at them sadly.]
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