Overwhelming, that's what those flowers were. They grabbed at her hair, her dress(mother made it, not for sale). The colors changed beneath her eyelids, reds and yellows to blues and greens, swirling always in the same direction, centerfold. Her small brain couldn't take the changing colors, the acreage. Her curry-powder hair curled inside her skull, also, making thinking a arduous process of brushing and tangles. Those flowers had mystery pollen, it stained fingertips blue and green, erasing all freckles in the process of tainting her skin. Tomorrow she must run, her brain finally thought: asleep in the flora near the water of the brook.
The abundance of words and array of pictures that are located on this blog, are possessions of Heather Marie, unless she tells you that they are not, in which case you must not believe that they are hers.