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In the greengrocery market, the stalls were overhung with date branches, cinnamon stalks, strings of dried orange peels, gunny-bags of pistachios, fresh pears, pomegranates, and boxes of honeycombs.

The bed’s linens overhung the side, giving them some cover, if not nearly enough.

Nearby stood a crumbling amphitheater that served as a community kitchen, and near that a playground overhung by a latticework of improvised power lines.

The rock was flat, almost like a platform, and was overhung by a large fig with roots snaking down on either side.

We walked to a fork in the path, a crossroads overhung with massive slabs of rock that seemed poised to crush us.