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It marks the moment more than any clock could
He wipes his hands on his coat
I twist through roots and moss
Glasses of dark wine caught the glow of the chandeliers as music carried the dancers slowly in circles
The Rose at Noon yarn It marks the moment moreThe garden wasnt left to grow wild, not here. Beds were kept in order, paths cleared, stems cut back before they could tangle into each other. Roses were watched closely not for beauty, but for timing. Too early and they wouldnt hold. Too late and theyd fall apart the moment they were touched. Now, she said, handing over the shears. He hesitated just long enough to make it obvious. Youll miss it, she added. The cut was clean, just below the node. The
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