She has been away, for a long time, she knows.
Sitting beneath a flowering tree, the pink petals drifting, a lone woman languorously props herself against the trunk with her legs sprawled inelegantly beneath the fall of gaudy red skirts. Hours, hours spent beneath this tree, she has spent hours gazing over a crystalline lake, watching the wind make ripples in the water.
The location isn't exactly remote but if anyone stopped to ask, she wouldn't have been able to tell where exactly she was. Oh, but it is so pretty here, was the one thought that kept repeating over and over in her mind. Vaguely, she could easily recall a dream she had, once. Once when she was a child, in a forest, listening to the melodious whisper of the wind through ever-green leaves, stubby legs dirt stained, and her hair wild as ever, maybe " she quirked a brow " wilder than it is now.
"I miss it," that forest, mind you, not this place. She doesn't know this place, only that it is pretty.
Funny how simple things can be, could be, should be, that is " if one lived an uncomplicated life. A boring, sedate life, the kind of life that surprisingly many dream of but once having find themselves bored and restless, full of complaints.
"It's always the same thing, day-in-and-day-out. Nothing changes."
Softly to herself, the woman mouths these words and tastes the lie " like bitter almonds that fill her mouth.
"Nothing changes.?
Vera only wishes.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
And everything, forever and always, changes.