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Goddess Summoning 4 - Goddess of the Rose.doc
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It took several minutes for Mikki’s cheeks to cool down. She could easily imagine the blazing red of her

blush. Jeesh, what a humiliating experience! She left the sidewalk and retreated up the side of the gently

sloping hill that would lead her to the uppermost entrance to the rose gardens. Shuffling her feet through the

dry leaves that browned the soft grass of the park, Mikki tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Everything had seemed fine—even fun—when she’d gone up onstage. Then she’d started reading her lines

and . . . she looked down at the script that she had forgotten to leave behind. The light was too dim, and she

couldn’t make out the words, but she didn’t have to read them to know that what had come out of her mouth

had definitely not been what had been written on the script. She remembered all too well seeing the lines glow

and then hearing them ring in her mind. She ran a shaky hand through her hair.

What was happening to her? She should go home. Maybe she should call Nelly. If having a totally

embarrassing hallucination in front of multiple people didn’t constitute an emergency of enormous girlfriend

proportions, she didn’t know what did.

Just then Mikki topped the little rise and came to a halt. The Tulsa Municipal Rose Gardens stretched before

her like a familiar dream, comforting her frayed nerves. Just what exactly was so terrible about what she’d

just done? What had really happened had probably more to do with three glasses of wine and being freaked

out by suddenly being thrust onstage than with psychosis. She shoved the script into her purse. When she got

home she’d reread Medea’s words. What she had said was probably close to the original text. She needed to

quit being so hard on herself. It was ridiculous to focus on every little mistake she made and every little

daydream she allowed herself. She grinned suddenly. She’d even pick up the free tickets and consider

heckling diva Catie on opening night.

Mikki felt the pull of her beloved gardens dissipate the last of her nervous stress as she gazed out across the

expanse of roses. The gardens had been built in the shape of a gigantic tiered rectangle that always reminded

Mikki of a huge, Italian wedding cake. There were five sections of terraced gardens, which climbed almost

900 feet from street level. Each tier was filled with row after row of meticulously tended roses. The gardens

were styled after the gardens made popular during the Italian Renaissance, and amidst the more than 9,000

roses and imported statuary were Italian junipers, sheared by hand into formal, conical shapes, southern

Magnolias, as well as deciduous holly and mugo pines.

Each level also held its own distinctive water element. The gardens boasted everything from peaceful, deep

reflective pools and ancient-looking spouting wall fixtures to the graceful, cascading fountain situated as the

garden’s water showpiece in the magnificent center of the third and largest level.

It was fully dark, and, unlike Woodward Park, the rose gardens didn’t have freestanding lights. nsi"

widentInstead, each water feature was lit from underneath. The effect was spectacular. The gardens seemed

to glow, suspended in the flickering illumination of rose-scented water. A whimsical breeze lifted Mikki’s

thick hair, pulling her forward. Eagerly, she crossed the boundary between the two parks and drew in a deep

breath. Roses filled her senses.

“Heaven couldn’t smell any better,” she whispered.

As if her feet made the choice for her, Mikki started down her favorite walkway, working her way slowly

toward the center most garden area. Some nights the grounds remained filled with people almost until closing.

They brought chairs and picnic baskets, books and sketch pads. That night Mikki was relieved to see that the

only other human activity was a couple of lovers who were making out on a blanket at the edge of the top

tier. She ignored them, and they ignored her. Mikki preferred it that way. She loved to have the roses to

herself. She walked lazily through the gardens, pausing often to visit beds of her personal favorites. The night

was quiet, and except for the wind playing through the trees, the hypnotic tinkling of water and the muffled

tap-tap of her boot heels against the pebbled cement of the pathways, there was little outside noise. It was like

the roses created a sound barrier between their gardens and the rest of the world.

The disappointing date in the past and the Medea fiasco forgotten, Mikki was thoroughly enjoying herself

once again as she chose the wide stairway that ran down the right side of the third tier. Hurrying, she almost

skipped down the steps that led to the heart of the gardens. The bottom of the rocky stairs was framed by a

large archway made of heavy rock. She stepped through that amazing arch of stone and, as always, she felt

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like she was entering another world. Mikki smiled and glanced to her left.

“And you know you’re a big part of the reason why.” She spoke to the enormous statue that perched

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