She walked throughout a field. The breeze tossed seeds into the air, careless. It took her brown, wavy locks and splashed them across her face. It whipped her long, flowing skirt all around the soft, dewy grass below her -- the flowers and the weeds alike. It was beautiful, playful, gentle.
Finally, she lifted her arms up and over her head, and the breeze quicked into a spinning, disorienting rush of wind. As if it knew. And her tall, weeping-willow frame fell upon the warm dirt. And she was muddied. And she was soaked through with the earth.
She lay there for a while... a few more moments. Thinking some, but mostly feeling the waves of the grass, all the weeds and flowers alike, take shape in the wind. It whisked the prickly grass about her face and neck and arms, against her body. It was beautiful, playful, gentle. But now it stung.
It pushed her down further upon the ground. And it seemed that her will had been drawn out at last. She was content to simply rest where she had fallen, to stay down.
Amongst the flowers and the weeds alike.
