Ah, to be young and in love. A fresh garden, bereft of weeds, free of pain, filled with promise budding green from the Earth. Youth blinds them to the death which looms distant in the horizon, a dark storm far from the minds of the two trees at the garden’s heart. These lovers are strangers yet, beautiful and beguiling to one another no doubt, but love is built in time. Not in a moment and not at the surface. In its depths, wounds are made, scars unearthed.