Sally Greenaway | Composer

As soon as night rises in the sky, the world belongs to us, and to the gods.
We go from field to spring, from dark wood to forest glade, wherever our bare feet lead us.
Tiny stars shine just enough for the tiny shadows that we are. Sometimes, under the low-hanging boughs, we come across hinds asleep.

But more alluring than anything else at night-time is a spot known only to us
and which entices us into the forest: a mysterious rose bush.
For there is nothing so divine on earth as to compare with the scent of roses in the night.
How is it that when I was alone I did not feel intoxicated by it?