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The weather�s been fair. His head is filled with buzzing energy. He drops the groceries off, and jogs down to Beechwood Park, which houses a garden he is fond of visiting when he needs to relax. He congratulates himself for leaving his weekends free.
Sitting in the sun, he can smell the intoxicating fragrance of lavender and daffodils. The bees buzz over a sparse rose bush in the far corner. This is his place of solitude, free from the prying eyes of impossible strangers. This is the garden where his transformations have been effected, secret from all save the gardeners and the sun. There is only one who belongs here with him. It is the woman with the eyes of stones.
He lays his hand on the mossy earth. It is warm. If we all only knew whose heart to tread on he thinks. Then she would climb on my gravity and we would be one.
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