Junkyard Post Two Week Three

This is based off an exercise with Anthony Hecht's "The Hill."

In Gubbio, where this sort of thing can occur,
I had a vision, or rather, deja vu, while on a leaf path
next to an empty ring of cement around a fountain
filled with old rainwater. But it was nothing like
the movie with Denzel Washington, or those moments
when people see gods or hear commands. Instead, I
was below a three storied mansion, curtained windows
beckoning to me and my friend. We were outside Manderly.
Rebecca, from somewhere in the forest, echoed a plea,
something about apples and lace, and the old boat house
down at the river, but the door under the hill, meant
for plumbers, forest rangers, or dwarfs, cut her off to me,
and I fell over a tree root. Picking myself up and out,
I searched for a lake, for her, and some sense of a goodbye.