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imagine getting a call from a close friend who you hadn't seen for the past six weeks. it's midsummer and you've been trying to see them since late spring, but they were always too busy. the excuses varied, but were always too vague or muttered for you to bring attention to their lack of concrete detail.
on occasion, walking through your small town, you would wonder if that was them rushing through a bustling crowd with an unconventionally thick jacket, but you would always label the thought of familiar dark curls being blown by the wind as a case of mistaken identity.
you consider checking up on them because you pass your friend's house every Tuesday to get groceries: flour, butter, and other things that would have been kept in bulk back at home in your mother's bakery. even though the weird occurrences of your new american neighborhood keep you from baking as much as you used to (how did that many birds get into your house anyhow?), you still try to keep up the skill when you can. each trip back from the store, however, is accompanied by a rapidly increasing hoard of birds outside your friend's home, and their beady stares make you clutch your grains a bit closer you your chest.
on the afternoon your friend called you to say that they had a surprise, you immediately put your most recent culinary venture on hold and rushed to their house. when they opened their door (a little bit earlier than when you arrived, no less), you careened into their arms, catching only a glimpse of their wide smile before burying your head into their shoulder.
as you stepped back moments later, you finally got a clear view of their attire. blue overalls splotched in a dried coating of mud. boots that looked like they could've been purple a few weeks of dirt ago. a canary yellow sun hat that would've been oversized if it weren't for the densely coiled hair keeping it up. with the smile and the eyes that tied the ensemble together, they couldn't have looked any more beautiful.
they grabbed your hand and led you to the gate at the side of the house, both of you quiet enough to hear a light breeze rustling the leaves of a nearby tree. they gently pushed you forward by the base of your back until you gasped at what you saw before you.
melons and berries and a myriad of vegetables filled the yard while flowers in bright pops of color lined it. two hummingbirds flitted past a bright red feeder. a lone bird splashed contentedly in the glass-adorned basin of a small fountain.
as you marveled over the beauty of the back yard, your friend told you that it's yours too, that you're free to take whatever you'd like, that they hope you like it, but if not, they can change it next season and...
you turned to them and took off their hat, holding back a laugh as some of the corkscrews on their head stayed flattened out by the previous pressure, and kissed them on the cheek. they turned as red as the steadily ripening tomatoes a few inches from your feet, and while they were frozen in the sun's rays, you crouched down and started placing fruits in the upturned hat.
"well," you looked up and smirked, "these aren't going to pick themselves, and I won't know which tarts to make if you don't help me decide."
you nonchalantly turned back to the berries, only glimpsing over your shoulder once more as a new hand followed the directions of yours.