On a clear night in mid-July, he went outside very late—stepped softly so as not to wake her—to see the starlight fall on the mountain as she slept, and he made a ritual vow to remain true if not exactly to the reality of the small woman sleeping in his bed in the cottage then to the perfected version of her he had worked out in his scenarios, for he believed that this version could incorporate and sustain—that we must each of us dream our lovers into their existence.
