The trunk of that great tree separated us from our husbands. They sailed on the canoe, and we could hear their laughter. The sun beamed; the lake glittered. Yet all I could see was you and the textured background of bark. It had an earthy smell which, when interweaved with your perfume, made my nostrils feel like tumbleweeds in Eden. Azaleas surrounded us. Their vibrant colour convinced me that we were in a hidden paradise: that we had discovered a scenic utopia. I embroidered them onto the linen to remember the occasion, to remember you. I felt a dull pricking whenever I pushed the needle’s tip through the cloth, a constant reminder that I was experiencing reality. Didn’t you know how perfect it was? Hidden in the shade of the leaves. Each Sunday, the Reverend’s voice, which echoed against the walls of the church — as commanding as the Lord’s…