Sun streaming down on a well-placed umbrella above her.
The grass crunchy beneath a soft blanket.
A gentle breeze flutters the pages of the book she holds.
The smell of honeysuckle thick in the air.
Condensation drips down a bottle of water.
Dusk approaches. The light fades. Small flashes are visible as lightening bugs play in the tall grass.
It is nearly perfection in this field. Nothing loud or harsh. Any sadness will be addressed three chapters later, and the end is always happy.
But when dusk's fall is complete, it is time to return to life beyond the field.
Placing her umbrella and blanket in a large bag, she begins the walk home. Counting the hours until she can return to the peace of her field. At the road, she turns for one last deep breath, holding the perfume of the honeysuckle close as a shield against what is to come.