The harbor at Utopia is shaped like a crescent. Twin arms of white-and-gold headland wrap tenderly around the bay like the horns of the moon, like a mother holding a beloved child. Favilla Vogel looks out over the water, as she rises from her bed under the great window. The weather in Utopia is delicious for sleeping, nights cool enough to make the weight of a sheet and perhaps a blanket quite pleasant, and the warmth of a lover’s skin not unendurable.
Favilla loves the morning more than any other time. it’s the sweet interval between dream and life.