she will plan her route according to whose flowers are blooming the best

or which tree is buzzzzzzing with bee's wings

she will stop to face up the columbine, to admire the five little cups, to wonder that such design is really necessary for evolution

it can't be necessary.  the hummingbirds could find it and eat, without it being such a marvel.  it's for her, for her to admire.  she is sure of it.

she stops dead in her tracks to compare the two scotties, stamped into the sidewalk nearby

takes people specifically to visit a stump, a stump you could take a bath in.  while there, she always admires its living cousin across the street, sturdier stronger and even longer-lived

when showing off for an out-of-towner, the hot dog place will be at the top of the list of things her town boasts, that new york city lacks

though her memory is broken, she can't forget the location of the giant rose arbor, a yard wide, at least

she stops to sniff each color, because each variety smells different, you know.  the most rose-scented rose, the rosiest rose she had ever known was a fairly unattractive salmon-y orange, that fragranced the whole street in front of the bright yellow house where it resided

when driving, she will bring the car to a full stop for squirrels, if need be, tho she will curse them as she does so

birds too (they DO get hit sometimes)

and even, if need be, a butterfly.

if you had ever seen one hit, as she had, you would too

it's frantic careering - heartbreaking.

she puts spiders outside, and mice too

could no sooner kill a bat than a vampire

she needs something in her hand while walking, and a leaf from any tree serves well as touchstone

sometimes she feels like one of those bozo the clowns, like life whacks her and knocks her down and she bounces back up

sometimes, she doesn't feel like getting back  up.  easier to stay down

but like bozo, she can't.  she bounces back, smiling