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TheDandelionGirlThegirlonthehillmadeMarkthinkofEdnaSt.VincentMillay.Perhapsitwasbecauseofthewayshewasstandingthereintheafternoonsun,herdandelion-huedhairdancinginthewind;perhapsitwasbecauseofthewayherold-fashionedwhitedresswasswirlingaroundherlongandslenderlegs.Inanyevent,hegotthedefiniteimpressionthatshehadsomehowsteppedoutofthepastandintothepresent;andthatwasodd,becauseasthingsturnedout,itwasn'tthepastshehadsteppedoutof,butthefuture.Hepausedsomedistancebehindher,breathinghardfromtheclimb.Shehadnotseenhimyet,andhewonderedhowhecouldappriseherofhispresencewithoutalarmingher.Whilehewastryingtomakeuphismind,hetookouthispipeandfilledandlightedit,cuppinghishandsoverthebowlandpuffingtillthetobaccocametoglowinglife.Whenhelookedatheragain,shehadturnedaroundandwasregardinghimcuriously.Hewalkedtowardherslowly,keenlyawareofthenearnessofthesky,enjoyingthefeelofthewindagainsthisface.Heshouldgohikingmoreoften,hetoldhimself.Hehadbeentrampingthroughwoodswhenhecametothehill,andnowthewoodslaybehindandfarbelowhim,burninggentlywiththefirstpalefiresoffall,andbeyondthewoodslaythelittlelakewithitscomplementofcabinandfishingpier.Whenhiswifehadbeenunexpectedlysummonedforjuryduty,hehadbeenforcedtospendalonethetwoweekshehadsavedoutofhissummervacationandhehadbeenleadingalonelyexistence,fishingoffthepierbydayandreadingthecooleveningsawaybeforethebigfireplaceintherafteredlivingroom;andaftertwodaystheroutinehadcaughtuptohim,andhehadtakenoffintothewoodswithoutpurposeordirectionandfinallyhehadcometothehillandhadclimbeditandseenthegirl.Hereyeswereblue,hesawwhenhecameuptoher—asblueastheskythatframedherslendersilhouette.Herfacewasovalandyoungandsoftandsweet.Itevokedadéjàvusopoignantthathehadtoresistanimpulsetoreachoutandtouchherwind-kissedcheek;andeventhoughhishanddidnotleavehisside,hefelthisfingertipstingle.Why,I'mforty-four,hethoughtwonderingly,andshe'shardlymorethantwenty.Whatinheaven'snamehascomeoverme?Areyouenjoyingtheview?heaskedaloud.Oh,yes,shesaidandturnedandsweptherarminanenthusiasticsemicircle.Isn'titsimplymarvelous!Hefollowedhergaze.Yes,hesaid,itis.Belowthemthewoodsbeganagain,thenspreadoutoverthelowlandsinwarmSeptembercolors,embracingasmallhamletseveralmilesaway,finallybowingoutbeforethefirstoutpostsofthesuburbanfrontier.Inthefardistance,hazesoftenedtheserratedsilhouetteofCoveCity,lendingittheaspectofasprawlingmedievalcastle,makingitlessofarealitythanadream.Areyoufromthecitytoo?heasked.InawayIam,shesaid.Shesmiledathim.I'mfromtheCoveCityoftwohundredandfortyyearsfromnow.Thesmiletoldhimthatshedidn'treallyexpecthimtobelieveher,butitimpliedthatitwouldbeniceifhewouldpretend.Hesmiledback.ThatwouldbeA.D.twenty-twohundredandone,wouldn'tit?hesaid.Iimaginetheplacehasgrownenormouslybythen.Oh,ithas,shesaid.It'spartofamegalopolisnowandextendsallthewaytothere.Shepointedtothefringeoftheforestattheirfeet.TwoThousandandFortiethStreetrunsstraightthroughthatgroveofsugarmaples,shewenton,anddoyouseethatstandoflocustsoverthere?Yes,hesaid,Iseethem.That'swherethenewplazais.Itssupermarketissobigthatittakeshalfadaytogothroughit,andyoucanbuyalmostanythinginitfromaspirinstoaerocars.Andnexttothesupermarket,wherethatgroveofbeechesstands,isabigdressshopjustburstingwiththelatestcreationsoftheleadingcouturiers.IboughtthisdressI'mwearingtherethisverymorning.Isn'titsimplybeautiful?Ifitwas,itwasbecauseshemadeitso.However,helookedatitpolitely.Ithadbeencutfromamaterialhewasunfamiliarwith,amaterialseeminglycompoundedofcottoncandy,seafoam,andsnow.Therewasnolimitanymoretothesynthesesthatcouldbecreatedbythemiracle-fibermanufacturers—nor,apparently,tothetalltalesthatcouldbecreatedbyyounggirls.Isupposeyoutraveledherebytimemachine,hesaid.Yes.Myfatherinventedone.Helookedatherclosely.Hehadneverseensuchaguilelesscountenance.Anddoyoucomehereoften?Oh,yes.Thisismyfavoritespace-timecoordinate.Istandhereforhourssometimesandlookandlookandlook.DaybeforeyesterdayIsawarabbit,andyesterdayadeer,andtoday,you.Buthowcantherebeayesterday,Markasked,ifyoualwaysreturntothesamepointintime?Oh,Iseewhatyoumean,shesaid.Thereasonisbecausethemachineisaffectedbythepassageoftimethesameasanythingelse,andyouhavetosetitbackeverytwenty-fourhoursifyouwanttomaintainexactlythesameco-ordinate.IneverdobecauseImuchpreferadifferentdayeachtimeIcomeback.Doesn'tyourfatherevercomewithyou?Overhead,aVofgeesewasdriftinglazilyby,andshewatcheditforsometimebeforeshespoke.Myfatherisaninvalidnow,shesaidfinally.He'dlikeverymuchtocomeifheonlycould.ButItellhimallaboutwhatIsee,sheaddedhurriedly,andit'salmostthesameasifhereallycame.Wouldn'tyousayitwas?Therewasaneagernessaboutthewayshewaslookingathimthattouchedhisheart.I'msureitis,hesaid—then,Itmustbewonderfultoownatimemachine.Shenoddedsolemnly.They'reaboontopeoplewholiketostandonpleasantleas.Inthetwenty-thirdcenturytherearen'tverymanypleasantleasleft.Hesmiled.Therearen'tverymanyofthemleftinthetwentieth.Iguessyoucouldsaythatthisoneissortofacollector'sitem.I'llhavetovisititmoreoften.Doyoulivenearhere?sheasked.I'mstayinginacabinaboutthreemilesback.I'msupposedtobeonvacation,butit'snotmuc