imagining scenes of passion and tenderness , rose of sharon stood one evening in the garden where she had been picking the first tomatoes for the evening meal and felt the breeze blow her skirt around her legs and watched the leaves of the trees flutter like her skirt and show their silver undersides in anticipation of the coming storm , and she felt the rain-laden wind on her cheek , and she cried and cried , knowing she wanted to be pure poetry , wanted to fly and drift with the clouds and yet , there she stood with a basket of tomatoes on her arm and a child and husband inside the too-warm house waiting for their meal .