Standing in the back garden, she sees the rose free spirits; those beautiful creatures have bloomed twice this summer. Their aura; delicate yet raging, drifts upwards like heat waves at dusk. The entire garden echoes with the chirps of bees and crickets, each insect emits little pink sparks of love that flicker with their wings. A message of reverence to the roses. The mauve coloured air weaves through the sweet grass and the lemon balm as the young woman sits barefoot, with her hand on the earth; begins to grow a honeysuckle from her wrists that stretches across the wall of the house like a flying fish leaping out of water. As the sun sets, she paints moons to hang on the willow tree, It’s branches curve over the fence and onto the main road. Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Dreams’ floats through the air like a cloud of fever dream nostalgia. “Now here you go again, you say, you want your freedom…” Passers by would stop and stare at the moons orbiting in the tree and remember a time when they were children, a time when they believed in magic and a thousand other things they’d long forgotten. The neighbours soon whispered that if you kiss the one you love under the roses, they will be yours forever. Adolescents with arduous hearts would be caught sneaking their lovers over the fence at midnight, for a moment of passion as the petals rained over their lips to bind the spell. The floating moons watched over them in the heady breath of late summer’s night. -Katie Ness