ginger wind plays with my hair and dress...

You notice the redhead first — that wild copper hair caught mid-flight, lifted and scattered by the wind like something untamed refusing to be still.

You feel your eyes pull downward, where the dress presses against curves it can barely contain, fabric surrendering to the breeze in ways that leave very little to your imagination.

You want to reach out and catch what the wind is already touching so freely — the hem, the waist, the warm skin beneath. You sit with that want, letting it settle heavy in your chest and lower.