I gallop out of my huge house, giggling madly. I have escaped, and no one will find me this time. Careening over the stone patio, I flop behind the border of sweet roses the color of blood. Moist soil cools my bare knees.

I don’t hear shouts of alarm. No one calls for me. Nanny must be asleep, not just resting her eyes as she often claims.

I see my goal, the fortress of trees on the other side of the garden. Barriers of bright color are layered in short plants with red/orange/blue blossoms that edge yellow/green/purple leaves backed by spires of light/medium/dark blue flowers. I plot my path – not the straightest, but the safest – behind the tallest plants.

My heart pounds as I dash to the first bow of greenery and flatten myself in the rich dirt. The odor of earthworms and Grandmother fills my nose. I only hear birds sing, insects buzz and my own muffled giggles. I crawl along the row until I reach the next gap. I sneak across the space; running might catch someone’s eye.

Scurrying along, I move closer and closer to my goal, fear and longing in every step. The smell of flowers shifts from sweet to peppery to earthy as I creep past rainbow shades. Bark pricks my hands and knees.

I arrive at the final gap in the tall shrubbery that rings the garden. On the other side of the last row of coddled, clipped and boring plants is the wild freedom of the untamed forest. Aching to run without limits, to shout at the top of my lungs, to dance in frenzied joy, I race through the hedge, and the strong arm of the gardener grabs me around my waist and swings me back in the direction of home.