The dogs laughed. The moon danced. The garden wound around her lovely neck singing of summer roses and river water. She wanted to hold this one moment forever. She wanted to be a child again for one more day, time stretching away, infinite and full of promise. She wanted to pretend her life had not yet happened. The roses were yellow with pink tips and pink with golden tips, but in the moonlight they shimmered like glistening silver bells. They had names but she didn’t know what they were. Their fragrance was sweeter when she rubbed the petals on her face. The dogs had found a place to rest on her feet. She reached down to scratch their silky ears, protected, regal. The moon found blue silk stockings to wear. The garden was drenched in dew and moonlight. She wanted the stars to sparkle on her fingers. She wanted the river to whisper secrets. The dogs settled their heads on their paws, listening, obedient to her command. She felt the garden embrace her as though she were a sculpture made of marble, a stone goddess in a temple, unmoving, silent. The moon disappeared. The night gave itself to the dawn, a cup of liquid gold spilling across the sky. She still had made no decision. She breathed in roses and the dogs stood up and stretched and yawned. She was no longer alone. The gardener came down the path, whistling. “Buenas dias, Señora,” he tipped his hat. Her dress was damp with dew. She wiped the sudden tears with the edge of her shawl and whistled to the dogs to follow her home.