Death - garden

Death’s garden was big, neat and well-tended. It was also very, very black. The grass was
black. The flowers were black. Black apples gleamed among the black leaves of a black apple tree.
Even the air looked inky.

After a while Mort thought he could see—no, he couldn’t possibly imagine he could see…
different colors of black.

That’s to say, not simply very dark tones of red and green and whatever, but real shades of black.
A whole spectrum of colors, all different and all—well, black. He tipped out the last load, put the
barrow away, and went back to the house.

***

Mort p27