This is Jadey.

She sits there under the old oak tree every day. She sings with the birds and she dances with the storms and she draws with the seasons. She plaits her hair and ties it with daises and she carves butterflies into the live oak. She sleeps under the sun and wakes to the moon and strolls home with a single white rose behind her ear. She sits there under the old oak tree every day. Alone.

This is my story.
This is her life.
This is Jadey.