There is no forest portrayed here, but there should be. The hills don't exist, they are a few strokes of the brush. Reality has no fields that are not in a small clearing in the forest invisible to any road.
Yet, for all that, this represents in my head the road to that part of Kisangani in the Congo where I lived.
Painted ten years after I left -- a sketch in paint -- the trees urban, the rest imagination. Is that allowed?
Sunlight flickers on a stone walkway lined with old trees. Walking up the staircase in the intense heat of the summer months in Haifa, a port city on Mt. Carmel, is oppressive. Even the shade of the tree-lined steps can't diminish the heat by much.