There was sunlight on the ivy that made up the woodland floor around him. Sunlight that crept through the green leaves above and cast shifting shadows. Evening sunlight, bright and still warm enough to enjoy. The trees were silent; natural statues of the earth, and as he stood, looking down, a strange idea occurred to him of the ivy twisting around his ankles and rooting him to the ground until he too became part of the forest. Small memories flitted of a bed and a house but they passed and he saw now the sunlight dead ahead of him, bursting though a gap in the sturdy trunks. Brighter it blazed and turned all to white until it dipped suddenly and night arrived.