A silver car leans into a curve on a rough country road on a clear bright late morning in June. Mylan, navigating the roads and looking crisp in a light purple shirt, looks to Justine as she squeals happily.

"Roll it back up, Mylan!" Justine says as she attempts to hold down her hair that is being whipped around her head by the warm air rushing into the cabin from her open window.

Mylan raises the window. Their laughter settles; adding another thread to their quilt. Justine smooths her hair and straightens her yellow polka dot blouse. She crinkles her nose at Mylan and pinches his shoulder before leaning back in her seat.

"Today is perfect," says Justine as she looks lazily out her window and breathes deeply, watching the hills roll and pitch as she and Mylan drive. Trees extend their branches over fields of grasses and wildflowers. A pair of ponies, similar to a pony her grandmother had, surprises Justine. The sight of them grazing is bested only by a peek of the sea beyond that is there then vanishes behind another hill.

Mylan reaches over and takes Justine's hand. Justine turns to him and strokes his forearm absentmindedly. Mylan glances toward Justine then back at the road and hesitantly asks, "Have you thought more about it?"

Feeling herself beginning to mount the carousel she and Mylan have found themselves arguing around in circles upon for the last two weeks, Justine turns to Mylan and asks, "I promise we'll figure it out. Can we just enjoy our picnic for today?" She gives him a weak encouraging smile that firms into a broad grin when Mylan steals a glance from the roadway to look in her eyes then squeezes her thigh playfully in the spot that never fails to tickle her.

The rough road gives way to gravel as the silver car slows to enter a roadside parking lot. Mylan and Justine gather their basket and umbrella then trek up the gentle slope of a hill.

From atop the hill a breathless expanse reaches out in front of them. Patches of wildflowers curl toward the horizon. Aged and thick trees tower across fields of swaying green. Laughing children run through the grass or swing high from ropes tied to tall branches. In the middle of the scene: the most beautiful thick carpet of marigolds.

Near the top of one of the surrounding hills an elderly couple sits under a tree in the shade. The man, out of style with the other people in summer wear, leans back against the trunk while wearing a light brown suit. His breathing is labored. His wife is holding his hand.

"Oh, look, Enzo. The children seem to have startled a bunch of butterflies. Listen to them laugh!"

Enzo follows his wife's gaze and gently grunts his acknowledgement.

The elderly woman, wearing a bright orange summer dress, stretches her legs to her side. She squeezes Enzo's hand tighter and says with melancholy, "We did well raising ours. They're strong, Enzo. You gave them what they needed… and they're good people, too. We raised good children, Enzo."

Enzo turns to look into his wife's eyes. He pauses between deep breaths to say, "Clara."

Clara leans slowly toward him and kisses him on the cheek. "I know, Enzo," she says as the most kind smile, nurtured by decades of love, spreads across her face before she returns to watch the families.

A lively young boy with a smudge of dirt on his chin bounds up to a woman sitting in a folding chair holding a shih tzu across her lap. "Aunt Camille, can Capucine come play with us?"

Camille, sitting with both legs on the ground and a dog across her lap, nevertheless appears as if she is worried that the ground will sully her feet or the flowers may sway too suggestively for polite society. A broad brimmed sun hat tops her head. An expensive looking green and salmon dress covers her from ankle to wrist.

Camille slightly lowers her wide sunglasses to address the boy disapprovingly. "You know very well, Thomas, that Capucine is sensitive to pollen. You must find another way to entertain yourself."

Thomas shrinks dejectedly. "Ah, okay," then turns to join his new friends.

"Thomas, wait," calls Camille. Thomas turns to her, a renewed hope evident in his eyes. Camille removes a cloth napkin from amongst the many folds of her dress, a napkin so dainty it could be said to be more hole than cloth, then wipes Thomas' chin.

"There you go, boy. Good as new. You can join your friends now," Camille says. Thomas rolls his eyes. His head swings away, followed by his body, annoyed in pantomime, then recovers his step and skips back to his friends to investigate an anthill.

Two men pause to watch children poking sticks into the dirt. The senior, evident by the salt in his pepper beard, stands as if trying to straighten the natural curve of his spine. His thumbs are hooked into the pockets of his vest. Although speaking with his companion, the senior seems content to have a conversation while never once looking at the other man. The man seems to be stuck in an infinite loop of taking his glasses from his breast pocket, wiping them with cloth, fitting the glasses upon the bridge of his nose, then removing them from his face, folding them carefully, and returning them to his pocket.

The younger man, wearing his hair in the more modern style of slicking it back with gel and parting along the side, seems grateful for the pause as it has been a struggle to keep up with his companion's longer strides.

"Up to two meters deep! Ants in this region. They dig their burrows up to two meters deep. The queens come out in May, you see," explains the senior.

"Ah, yes, professor," adds the younger. A confused look spreads across his face.

The professor continues walking. The younger man, having been distracted while watching the children poke sticks into the anthills, notices his companion has left then makes a short dash back to his side.

"... of the Antarctic, you see. It was all rather cold and dreary, but we came away with six new seeds, Nicolas! Can you imagine? Six species that haven't been seen in tens of thousands of years!"

"That's amazing, professor!" inserts Nicolas.

The professor waves his hand across some nearby flowers, as if they were about to assist him in illustrating his story, and continues, "Of course, we'll have to wait to see if they germinate. Still, it's an accomplishment, I'd say, and who knows what discoveries await next season?"

The pair continue their trek to nowhere through an area wherein at least a dozen picnic blankets are laid upon the ground and people enjoy lunch meat, sips of sweet wine, the crunch of crackers, and the tangy bliss of a myriad of cheeses.

The professor stops suddenly. Nicolas steps backward to join him. The professor looks down as a man, woman, and three children pause mid-bite to look up toward him. "Feta. How pedestrian."

The older man, most likely the family's father, widens his eyes in stupefaction. A piece of crumbly white cheese falls off the piece of bread he holds in front of his agape mouth as the professor briskly exits and Nicolas leans down to apologize profusely.

A giggle drifts across the grass blades carried by the gentle sea breeze. A young girl sits with her legs tucked underneath her. She wears a light blue dress with ponies and pine trees printed upon it. Next to the young girl a woman sits on a flat stone. Her maroon polka dot hat shading her from the afternoon sun.

"Like this, Auntie Emma?" asks the young girl. She holds up two marigold flowers with stems twisted together.

"Almost, Margaux, watch me," replies Emma.

Emma picks two flowers near the base of their stems. She brings her hands down closer to Margaux as the young girl slides closer to Emma and rests an arm on Emma's legs.

Emma twists the stems of the two flowers and ties them together. "Do you see how they hold each other like this?"

Margaux watches then makes many attempts. Eventually Margaux lifts her wrist in triumph to show Emma a bracelet of orange marigolds. Margaux beams with Pride. Sounds of delight escape her as she bounces up and down. The bracelet disintegrates under the force of Margaux's wrist being flung backward and forward.

Margaux looks at her wrist and the flowers with twisted stems on the ground. "That's okay, I can make another," she says enthusiastically then drops to the ground again to sit with her legs tucked underneath.

Under the shade of a big tree an elderly couple seem to be enjoying the sounds of the rustling leaves overhead. Enzo breathes deeply then slowly lets out another wheezing breath. He stares out at the families and the large field of marigolds.

Clara turns to see a nearby couple sitting under an umbrella. The woman in a yellow polka dot blouse stands abruptly and walks a few meters away. The man looks away, looks down, then stands and walks toward her.

Clara sees the two arguing although she can't hear what is being said. She sees them look away from each other. Clara's heart aches; she knows this pain. Clara looks back at Enzo and smiles.

Watching the couple again, Clara sees them turn toward each other. At the same time the two reach out both hands and hold them between themselves. They look down and lean in so their foreheads touch. They take turns talking while the other nods. Then they look up and into each other's eyes, nod once more, embrace, then kiss in a way that Clara knows means, "It's us against the world."

Relieved, Clara once more looks out over the swath of marigolds. "These were always your favorite, Enzo," she says into a silence broken only by the sound of the leaves rustling above.