Promenade

I promenade through the wild garden, picking flowers, weaving them into an intricate and overflowing crown. The ripe reds and shouting pinks and singing purples clash cheerfully with the burning oranges and blazing yellows; the few mezmerizing bluebells splashes of sky in a fire. A few leaves and vines poke out here and there, and I am as much part of the color in my azure summer dress. Strapless, tight at the bust, loosening in feather-light cloth till right above my knees. The rest of me is bare, my skin tanning gently in the early summer sun. Soon, I finish my crown. My black curls preventing it from sliding off, I don it. Their gentle perfume woos me, makes me smile like a fool.