The sky is beautiful. The girl stands in the middle of the lawn and looks up, her eyes wide with wonder and awe. It is still light blue, despite the fact that eight o'clock has been and gone. The sun is about to set and so the light is pink, catching the underside of grey-blue clouds and giving them a soft glow.
Around these clouds the sky melts from colour to colour. Pink to orange to blue to white to grey to pink to orange to blue to white...Aeroplane trails pick their way across the glowing vista but even this harsh reminder of human technology cannot spoil the image.
Wispy white clouds--out of reach of the pink, flattering glow--drift lazily across the evening sky as though they cannot be bothered to go anywhere but have to. They spread out, growing thinner and thinner and further apart until the sky is almost clear.
The girl smiles. She looks a little further down and the large cooking-apple tree catches her eyes. The blossoms are falling. There is a tree house there, in which she used to play when she was little. Now it is deserted, used for storing compost. But the blossoms make it beautiful again, and she laughs.
This is a summer evening. This is her home.