unsure

unsure where her life would go, she sat down in the road and cried. while she was down there on the gravel, she noticed how dirty her feet had become, and started thinking of what her toenails might look like pedicured. she had never even had a real pedicure, not that it mattered since she was barefoot in the woods most of the time anyway. underneath her feet she saw a small herd of ants, so busy, so seemingly anxious. when she was peering at the ground that way, the rest of the world seemed to disappear and she felt safer, quieter, somehow more whole. she wished everything would disappear and she could just live in this peaceful place from now on, just her and the damn ants and her barefeet. then, after quite a long while, she lifted her head a bit and had to squint for the bright sunlight. she was dark in that little hole surrounded by her long brown hair, shading the ants and her feet, watching her tears puddle up on the sand. just in front of her in the culvert lulled a long lone indian paintbrush, her favorite color of orange, and she thought if only she could slow down long enough to feel what the flowers feel. to actually feel in flower time. that would be my perfect life.