A path above the lake ran through old woodland, and the first thing in it worth stopping for was this beech. Several trunks off one base, all of them wrapped in moss, the canopy still bare enough to read every branch against the sky. It sits on a bank with the water pale behind it, holding the ground down on its own.
A little further on, an ice house was cut into the bank, stone steps up one side and a low arch into the dark. These were the fridges of the big estates, packed with lake ice through the winter to keep the kitchens going into summer.
The last frame is the arch from inside, a walker stood in the mouth of it for scale and to give the eye somewhere to land. Without a person in there it is just a black hole in a wall.