THE FLAIR OF SLIT DRESS A FANTASIA VERDE

Dawn brushes the tiled roofs with a milky glow, bounces off the striped awnings of the stalls, and soaks into the pastel-green bodice, drawn tight by a small bow that gathers the light like dew. The outline of rose-tinted petals unfurls just beneath the neckline, while the fabric rests calmly against the torso, ready to spill into the sweeping skirt.

Amid voices still flushed with sleep, crates of velvet peaches and frosted grapes rise in welcome; hands extend fruit with the tenderness of first light, the slit skims the air and moves on, untouched. Each step opens a corridor through the crowd like breeze through leaves: the floral pattern slips past jute sacks and straw paper, and the scent of citrus mingles with a hint of mint drifting up from the light hem.

Beneath the portico the stone floor still keeps the night’s cool; the billow of the skirt draws a wave that disappears before it meets the ground, leaving behind only a whisper of fabric. The market slowly folds closed behind her, and the morning air lingers on the ribbon at the bodice, preserving in its pale green the hush of a secret garden crossed without a trace.