She walks barefoot through a field of peppermint, trying not to disturb the bees working.
Sandals in her left hand, backpack where it belongs – straw hat on her strawberry hair.
Mint stems between her toes tear at soft skin.
The smell of the crushed mint makes her happy.
In her High School they said she was basic.
At University she was called crunchy.
Her senior year she met a man who said she was tragically sweet and sincere.
The PTA, book club and garden club would be in her future, all this she knew.
The women would admire her hair and grace,
Even as her hair turned grey and then white.
She finds herself on long rambles alone, in the local hills and valleys where she speaks to the native plants in their language.
