For Franchesca

She walked up the hill slowly, listening to the thick breeze jostling the tree tops hanging low and heavy with lush vines. Vibrant greens, bright with clear sunlight, were broken by beautiful white flowers; huge petals lilting with dew from an early morning rain. The air smelt of a crisp dawn: clean and cool, sweet with the aroma of jonquils and the refreshing ozone. Leaves brushed against her shoulders, leaving dark water droplet stains on her shirt. The sound of the ground under her boots thudded in a marshy slurp and the echo of the ocean lapping against a distant shore filter through the branches; she knows it’s simply over this hill.

And when she arrived at the crest, the drooping mangroves gave way to the site of rolling waves, thick blue with the reflecting greens of the trees which hung over the beach. The breeze came in off the ocean, bringing the thick scent of saltwater and sand beginning to warm under the bright yellow sunlight. Reaching up, she takes down her brown curls and allows the wind to filter through their tendrils away from her face; freedom surrounding the gentle freckles on her cheeks as she smiles at the whites, greens, blues and golds painted across her horizon.

White morning clouds drift idly in the distance through the branches of green. A hummingbird dashes before her, on its way to the next white flower. She bends down and takes off her boots, stuffing in her socks before she runs down the small slope on the soft sand to the warm waters. The grains massage her feet as she steps quickly, tickling her senses even before she feels the rush of water over her toes. Before she realizes, she’s walking along the shoreline, leaving her shoes on the hilltop far behind.

The day is perfect and peaceful, the signs of nature flourishing around in every form; the sea calls to her gently, rocking to a fro as the sun moves across the sky. And she knows where she is: home.