We spread blankets on the grass and slowly eat our dessert as the sun sets. Someone over by the trees is playing a ukulele. A man throws a stick for a dog. A child rides the zip trolley down the slope.

The endless and rambling conversations. Seven women, all so effortlessly beautiful. One with a broken arm. One a few months away from moving to another city. A few of them single; a few of them coupled. A bartender. A freelance photographer.

I hug M goodbye, and I smell the mint that she holds in her hand, that she picked as we walked through the yard. She is soft and strong and beautiful and so utterly herself. Her hair a mess, her dress falling in folds across her hips.