"Stepping across the stones in the moonlit garden she held the sweeping gown up from the dampness of the moss. He'd come tonight, the vows so softly spoken. She'd chosen this gown in a dream. The yards of fabric swirled around her and she'd seen how it moved as he swung her in his arms a million times as she drifted into slumber. Now it was upon her and it was as perfect as the light casting shadows in this eden. The gown of perfection is a wondrous 244\" full sweep that swirls around as you…