fox in the middle of vineyard

You find her between the rows, copper hair catching the late afternoon sun like something the vineyard grew itself. She moves slowly, fingers trailing the heavy clusters of grapes, bare skin warm against the cooling autumn air.

Her freckled shoulders carry a flush that matches the ripening fruit around her. She turns toward you without surprise, as if she knew you were watching from the moment you stepped between the vines.

The light thickens gold around her waist. She reaches upward, stretching long, and the vineyard holds its breath with you.