There are petals hiding over a cold-water glass, looking at me, I blow and the dance commences. The woman is in each and every petal, in the whole bunch, all over the field, she is colorful, with her perfume and her thorns. She is simple, powerful with her giving force, the dance lets her breathe her joys and let her chaos go. She is peaceful as she lets the rose water fall down her body, then she leaves, herself being her only treasure.