On long, dreary, walks to school, Phillipa passed a garden that overflowed with roses. One day she packed a pair of scissors, wanting to enjoy these beauties all to herself. Soon enough, she was caught, roses and scissors in hand. "You've been stealing my roses," said Mrs. Melon, scolding her over the fence. Twenty-five years later, she still wanders the neighbourhood, admiring the yards, with her camera, not scissors, in tow.