She is Different

"Claire De Lune"

Rose crouched and tended to her moon flowers.
Although she had work in the morning, she spent her night in her garden. She couldn't sleep, she hardley ever could.
"Roses are red for love and lust," said Rose as she passed her rose bushes. "And Violets are purple not blue."
Rose shivered as a cool north breeze blew against her bare body, for more often than not, Rose gardened at night and nude.
Rose felt more comfortable with her natural state and accepted it, while most people saw nudity as a sexual or a sinful state of being.
Rose breathed in the crisp air as her long snow white hair blew around her with the wind.
All of Roses body was a winter wonder land, except instead of cold winter colours, she had hints of pinks and peaches. Her eyes, however, were a soft lavender.
Even though Rose was seen as some sort of strange creature, she liked being albino, and thought of it as a gift.
Rose looked at the clock she put out side the day she moved into the two story appartment, her neighbors had thought of her as crazy when she placed it under her balcony.
"Three past two," she breathed.
Rose picked up her dicarded nightgown and threw it on. She brought her balcony ladder down and proceeded to climb to the top.
When Rose walked into her room she picked up a record and placed it into it's spot on the phonograph. She cranked the handle then placed the needle on the disk.
Rose sighed as soft classical played, then continued into bed, and was soon asleep before the the first sonet had ended.