among the wildflowers

KC stepped off the trail and into a clearing of wildflowers; soft pink and yellow, five-petaled, blooming low across the foothills of the Alberta mountains. The late summer air carried the scent of sun-warmed grass and something faintly sweet, like clover.

She walked slowly, her feet brushing through the blossoms, letting her body fall into the rhythm of the land. The sky arched wide and quiet overhead. Her jet black hair lifted slightly in the breeze, brushing against the collar of her white button-down. She didn’t rush.

At the crest of a small rise, she found it a pocket of stillness surrounded by color. She spread her black-and-white plaid blanket in the middle of the flowers, smoothing the edges before settling down cross-legged. The fabric of her shirt softened against her skin as she moved. It felt good just to sit.

She pulled a paperback from her bag, the pages familiar beneath her fingertips. For a while, she read, the story folding around her. But it wasn’t long before she let the book fall gently into her lap and tilted her face toward the sun.

There was a fullness in her chest she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. Not excitement, not longing just presence. The warmth, the wildflowers, the hush of the wind it all held her without asking anything in return.

Here, alone in the open air, she didn’t need to be graceful or composed or anything at all.

She simply was.