The Fool

 
I am the fool. The breeze blows across the back of my neck and ruffles my cropped hair. I've already tucked my little dog into my pack, and I feel her wriggling up against my back. I'm wearing a white shirt under overalls, with lace-up boots that I haven't really broken in yet. My feet hurt because I forgot to put socks on this morning. I'm holding a spirit rose in my right hand, and I inhale deeply, savoring its sweet fragrance. I'm so absorbed that I don't realize that my right foot is planted firmly in middair, while my left curves midstride. I hover, as if I'm in a cartoon. But I don't look down. I'm too absorbed in the beauty of a rose, one only I can see.