Frightened and despaired, she plucks a flower. Crawling on the ground at sunset, her sleeve unveiling her left naked shoulder, she gracefully plucks a flower. She feels alone and inconsolable. Lost in the whirl of her torments, the hope to recover from her pain seems vain. She fell on her knees with the intention to beg for help or perhaps from the wear of her tears against her desolated heart.

As she felt the last sun rays caressing her skin, she opened her eyes to the sight of the moon and lifted her head. Before her, a handful of small flowers waiting to be plucked. She delicately shifted her fingers to the daisies’ stems and pulled the green roots and leaves from the earth. She picked another one, and then another one. Unable to stop, this sudden desire to possess all the flowers surrounding her calmed her hasty breath.

Laying now on her back, staring at the powerful sunset, released in the meantime from her demons, she holds the bouquet in her right hand. Soon, all the flowers will drop one by one from her frail hand, following the unsteady beat of her heart. Her respiration will decelerate, the sun will caress the lady covered in flowers one last time.