She connects little daisies one to another, and it is magic to see how she links them — pushes her thumb nail through the bottom of a stem, runs another flower through. She laces while the sky falls warm on my face.

We sit in this field of summer green, and it is dotted with lion manes and white-rimmed sunshines, and here, with our dresses touching, I feel free.

My hands splay next to me in the cushiony green, and I pluck blades, then a tiny flower, twirling it between my thumb and index finger.

When she’s done linking, my friend holds the long oval of flowers out in front of me, and I duck through the hole, garland lying across lavender plaid.

I smile at her with a closed mouth and a slight squint to my eyes. I feel like a goodly queen, like a treasured daughter, in my dress, these jewels.

I don’t ever want my chain to wither and brown because this necklace means I’m special.

Here, this is for you, she’d said.

Continue here to read the rest of the story at The Runamuck, where I am thrilled to be guest posting for Amber Haines this morning. A group of us gather there each week, using concrete words to show the abstract.

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