The wind danced through the fluffy stalks in the field. The sun, which had been directly overhead just minutes ago, was already beginning its descent toward the hills. The blue sky blushed with streaks of pink and gold.

Rosa had come here earlier in the afternoon while you were busy. First, she had swept the house, then played with Pipka until the little dog grew tired and dozed off. After tidying her room, she decided she wanted to take a walk—and remembered the field just 500 meters behind the house, filled with those strange plants you called miscanthus. Rosa loved the name, so intricate and elegant.

Now she stood in her thick plaid dress and a blue woolen scarf, bending down to pluck a few more of the feathery stalks. She added them to the bouquet cradled in her other arm and glanced up at the sun, which painted her cheeks a warm pink. A smile bloomed on her face unbidden. Then, in the distance, she heard a high-pitched yap! Pipka! Rosa turned to see you walking through the field, a small white speck darting through the stalks beside you. Pipka bounded forward, leaping at Rosa’s feet and circling her legs with excited whimpers.

Rosa lifted her eyes to you and beamed. She held out the bouquet of soft, downy grasses. The wind tugged playfully at her golden twin ponytails.

"They smell nice and they are fluffy. Do you like them?" she whispered, barely louder than the breeze.