country laze, sunny daze.

She walked along the road with her school bag slung over her shoulder as she struggled with her new gigantic art folder. To the side of the road her sight was diverted to a mushroom circle of poppies. Bending over to pick one up, her folder bent and slipped from her grasp. This is when she decided to talk a gander off route home.
Along the side of the golf course the grass grew high, high enough to engulf her knees and lower. Randomly to the edge of the course a long knobly log was drawn up to mark the edge. Slinging her folder to the floor, where the grass was freshly cut to keep up appearences. You could still smell the fresh spiring smell that wafts over after a cut. She reached in to her bag for her bottle of water and takes a swig. She felt for the flower blazeing contrast in her mass of blonde loose curls that she had put for safe keeping, leaving the lid to her water she popped the poppy in with the head poking out.
Lying face down with her head leaning to the side against her arms she watched the ant walk up and down her arm dazily in circles as if on drugs.
A cheer from a putt in one woke her from her country laze, more like sunny daze. Swiftly she heaped her belongings and set off for home.