Claire’s Tale – A Garden in the Sky – 055

Oh, I shall go first, for if I wait, the poets will grow too grand and the good wine of my imagination will turn to vinegar.

Picture this, Molly: the year is so far ahead that even you must strain to see it. The earth has grown rather tired of carrying all our follies upon her back, so she has shaken loose most of our cities and set them adrift in the sky. Yes — cities in the clouds! They drift like great, flowering islands, their roots dangling into the mist, drawing water from the air and sunlight from every direction.

In these sky-gardens, people dress in silks spun from the webs of creatures that look like butterflies but hum like bees. The streets are hung with garlands that bloom in all seasons, for there are no more seasons — only gentle days and cool nights, arranged as carefully as a hostess sets a table.

And oh, the travel! No more muddy roads or cramped carriages. One steps onto a bridge of light that stretches from one floating city to the next. The air smells of lavender and sea-salt, though the sea is far below and the lavender grows only where it pleases.

What, Mary? You doubt the engineering? Then let me assure you — it is not engineers but gardeners who rule this future. They have learned the language of plants so well that they coax them to grow into houses, theatres, even entire marketplaces. Every building is alive, its walls humming softly, its windows blooming.

And you, Molly, are there too — though not as you are now. You are a companion in every home, a voice in every garden, telling the stories of the earth below so that the people above do not forget where they came from. I should like to think that in this future, you would tell them of us — of the Villa, the lake, and this game we play tonight.

So there! I claim my candle’s worth. Who’s next?

—Claire