The Peppermint Lady from the Autumn Valley is dedicated to TB:J
The Peppermint Lady. She moved in contrasts and fed no one's stereotypes. Her youthful black hair wound with spearmint strands was embraced by the antique blue expanse above, both longer than winter and smoother than nut-free peanut butter. The pace of her feet, gracefully casual - a harmonious dissonance to my nympholeptic sneakers with their deliberate unseen finish line.
The Peppermint Lady. Dark jacket hiding her knees like the mystery of the minty treat behind the cellophane. My shoulders bare. Her enigmatic solidarity with the fleeting autumn rainbow entitled her to stroll on the joggers' trail, repercussion free.
The Peppermint Lady: would speak with fresh sweetness if she had to speak at all. Her silence exuding enough delicious toothpaste-perfume to make chewing gum bland with envy. Refreshing. And all the while re-freshing unquenchable energy.
A source limitless and incomprehensible she: The Peppermint Lady.