Not pictured: Mosquitoes

gorgeoussss

Makes a pretty solid case for maidenhood, really.

Flower and bees huh

Lo, yonder in the sunlit mead, where laughter trippeth light o’er the whispering grass, dwell maidens fair and free, untroubled by the weary weight of toil. Their days are spun of golden ease, their mirth untainted by the cares of common folk. Yet, if fate hath not bound their hands to labor, whence cometh their niceties?

When time, that silent thief, doth fray the hem of silken gowns, who then bringeth forth the needle’s grace? What gentle hand doth weave anew the threadbare cloth, that never do they walk in garments torn?

And if no ploughshare turneth earth, nor fire doth kiss the cauldron’s rim, what providence filleth their bellies? Do the boughs of the field bow to them alone, spilling forth fruit unbidden? Do the waters of the brook yield sweetness untasted by mortal lips?

Is it the meadow itself that tendeth them, unseen and benevolent? Or doth some unseen guardian, shrouded in the hush of twilight, watch o’er these maidens, tending to their needs as the stars tend to the night?

Oh, to ask them! To call forth across the hills and bid them answer! But no—let not the weight of wonder break the spell. Let them be as they are, and let mystery weave about them as ivy round an ancient tower.

ooh their dress should surely become torn from all the frolicking and rolling in the grass...