Colleen knew that later she would regret the tiny lacerations tattooing her ankles, annoying in the way of paper cuts and hang nails. But the sweet lemony perfume drew her, uphill, paying no attention to the gnat-sized thorns which grabbed at her skirt. A tiny rip in the hem would always remind her of this cloud-drenched Saturday. She pulled a handful of vines from the fence and wove them into the looseness of her long dark hair. I am the Queen of the May she thought and laughed out loud. It always amazed her how the world could contain such startling hues of green.