Juliet Stone sat with her legs crossed on the wildly grown, debatably green grass, which no longer carried the sweet, pleasant scent of summer. She loved the smell of the grass in late June and early July because she thought that it was the aroma of the earth at its peak of life and happiness. She especially loved the fragrance of the grass in the meadow behind her house. . . The same meadow she was sitting in now. As she inhaled the odor of the end-of-August grass, Juliet knew that the earth knew that it was about to die; she had a talent for such things.
A cool, crisp breeze cut through the last of the somewhat warm summer air, slicing through Juliet's hair, the overgrown grass, and the many scattered bushes of Queen Anne's lace. She stared at the white, lacy flower feeling envious. . . She wished she was a flower; alive and at full bloom in the summer yet absent in the colder months only to come back again and repeat the cycle for years to come.
Juliet closed her eyes and let the wind rip through her hair again. She let her mind take her to a place where she didn't need to start high school tomorrow, to a place where it could always be summer, and a place where the grass would be undebatably green and always smell like the hottest time of year.
She opened her eyes and sighed because even though she was a girl of fourteen, she was always left in melancholy when her mind didn't take her to where she imagined. In this case, she thought of California, the land of people like herself—dreamers and people who could get lost in their heads.
A powerful breeze rocked her back and forth. . . This one much cooler and crisper than the last. It knocked Juliet back into reality, leaving her in pieces, with only her mind to put them back together.
~
Her mind didn't put them back together; reality did, all Juliet needed to do was face it. Reality and Juliet Stone had never been the best of friends. She was an optimist and reality was a pessimist, which was already the foundation of a fatal relationship. Nevertheless, the next cool sudden blast of air and yellowing grass was all just a friendly reminder that she was a flower, the best kind—the kind that was at its peak of life year round.
She fell asleep in her meadow that night and woke up there in the morning. The earth knew the Juliet knew that she was ready; it had a talent for such things.
