In a summery winter, the lily petals dried out and laid down across the marble, a dancer without a dance. A scent still wafts, still lingers, reminds of all those rooms where lilies unfurled their fulsome petals in times of love and grief. Here, as though ready to twirl across the counter, my lily leaves a trail of pollen and unheard song. She hastens to the ball. The dance awaits.