Barefoot

Barefoot, she crept through the grass, which gave way gently under her feet, as she approached the cherry tree in the neighbor’s garden.
The old tree, which hung full of bright red fruit every year, stood right on the border of her own property.
Stealthily, almost as if in an exciting game, she reached out and plucked one of the juicy cherries that hung low and tantalizingly from the branches.

Her heart beat a little faster because she knew that the neighbor was sometimes in the garden, and yet she couldn’t resist.
The taste of the cherries was just too sweet, too tempting for her to ignore.
The warm summer air surrounded her, her light dress moving gently in the wind as she gazed at the tree, careful not to be noticed.

As she held the cherries in her hands, she felt a tingle of excitement – an innocent play with nature, and perhaps also with the boundaries of what is allowed.
The wind brushed her skin, the sun shone warmly down on her and she felt free, almost as if this moment belonged only to her.
She was part of this world, the garden, the cherries, the soft rustling of the leaves, and yet she remained hidden, secret and unrecognized.