Standing at the window in the middle of the night, she strained to see the garden in the backyard. She wanted to know how they looked in this limpid light, she wanted to know how her plants looked all the time. Like imminent and longed for children, their hourly progress was her joy. As she turned to go back to her bed and husband, a white face in the yard caught her eye. It was the moonflower. It had finally bloomed. "Joe," she called softly, "come here."