The young woman sat in the garden weeding the roses. Occasionally, a butterfly would
come, distracting her ever so gently to listen to the soft twinkling of the birds. To watch the 
humming bees swarm at the pollen.
	A younger woman sat on the other side of the roses. A pen was in her hand, a journal in 
the other. Her head was bent and she was writing. She was surrounded by mushrooms and little tiny fairies riding upon dragons.
 	A young man was in the greenhouse. He was wearing goggles and was reading books to 
the rainbow of slugs. Sometimes he would stop, stare at his friends, and would suddenly run 
to a computer, his goggles flying off his face in the rush.
	A younger man was sitting by the garden pond, a plethora of kittens mewling by his side. He was watching the boats, boats he had made, sway side by side in the small gentle breeze. The mimic of a storm in his mind.
	Two young children, blonde heads curling in the morning dew, were playing in the garden center, their game of hide and seek was within the trees. Their laughter rang through the song of the family, so beautiful, so kind.
	The flowers closed their petals and the sun slowly left the sky. The family came together and drank in the evening stars. They surrounded the Mother, the Wife, the Love. They looked at the skies and pointed in awe as a shooting star left a smile upon the dark murky surface. They huddled in close as the evening cold settled upon the garden, making threatening shadows frolic the beauty. The family pushed in on the Mother, the Wife, the Love. They silently, peacefully fought for her love, her protection…and she hugged them all close and spoke of tomorrow, of butterflies, the slugs, the bees, and the fairies.