Smallheartgarden1

A Garden of Small Hearts 1 Returning at Evening Ali is on the platform. I have seen her several times before, but usually in the morning when we go out or when I am crossing the path by the observation platform. The platform is made of what looks like unfinished boards, a shade or two lighter than pine straw. It stands out against the moss that lines the forest floor and which protects my housemates bare feet. Of course not everybody's feet are bare here, but enough of us do not wear shoes. Ali of course wears sandals. They are a bright gold with thin straps that contrast with the muted bronze sheen of her belt, which bisects a one shouldered cream colored tunic of shiny, thin, soft material that caresses one shoulder and falls to just above her knees, but which is totally modest in its own way. Ali has skinny legs, small pert breasts, a heart shaped face with regular features, and chestnut hair that falls in a shiny caress to the nape of her neck. Her eyes look light colored. Her soft, short dress has pockets with discrete electronics in them. I see her finger them from time to time as she watches us gather. In the evening every one is scruffy. We've been out in the sun and maybe the sand or dirt as well. If we've gone into town, we have walked a long way. If we swam in the lake or the sea, there is salt on our skin and if we are caucasian, there is grease in our hair. Ali is not close enough to smell us. If her eye for detail is good she can read our mood in our physical appearance. It is summer. Our clothing is light. Sometimes it is minimal or close to nonexistent. Some of us carry baskets, bags, or packs, but not the majority. If you look carefully you will see we are fairly diverse which is as it should be given that this is the Southern United States.