I was tending to the plumeria's taking in the sweet smell of the garden that seemed to be so quickly fading away in the summer heat. The trees themselves seemed to be sweating away the moisture that kept them so vivid. As I leaned into a divine plumeria I caught a shade of pink from my peripheral vision. For a moment I imagined a gigantic flower had blossomed and hidden itself in the bushes. I laid down my hand shovel, the grain of soil lightly grinded against the wooden edge of the flowerbed, and I proceeded over to the majestic flower. As I crept around the corner of the tall well-shaped bush I saw it was not a flower but a man. The man almost equal to the size of the bush and dressed in a smooth pink suit, as if strawberry milk was the material. He stood there holding a golden coin and restlessly turning it with his fingers in and out between them. His stare was fixed on the window of Master Buchanan's bedroom window. So much so, that the man didn't notice my shadowed presence behind him. The eerie silence had enveloped me into a state of wonder as I observed the man. I awakened and my eyes widened and my heart jumped as I heard footsteps coming near us, the disturbance of another individual forced me to hide myself further within the body of the bush.
I heard names, one of which was the lady of the house, and I saw the man gaze toward the window. I stared carefully trying to decipher their body language. The two finished their conversation and the intruder continued back to the house. I recognized the man and knew he had been there before. When he returned the two shook hands and the man in the suit stayed and stood gazing up at the same window.
I then crept back to my gardening duties and picked up my tools scattered around the plumeria's. I still glanced occasionally over at the man that was once a flower in my eyes. The sun began to set and the sky turned into luminescent colors of deep oranges and pinks. From my quarters just across the garden the man was still staring there as the blue shades of night began to fall upon the land. It seemed like he had become almost a statue, nothing more ordinary than a lawn ornament. He stood there waiting until at last, a lady, Mrs. Buchanan emerged from the window and stood at the balcony. I stared breathlessly in admiration of her beauty and in anxiousness, for what event would now occur to disturb the stillness of the garden that night. Even though she did not seem to take notice of the carefully hidden man in pink it seemed that they communicated through the air. The message was sent from one pair of eyes to the other almost telepathically. With that, she turned with a solemn look upon her face and floated back through the glass doors closing them with a sensation of eternal finality. The moon rose high above the mansion, as the man's structure seemed to fade from its original stiffness to a dim form. It was like the very goal he was striving to achieve, whatever it was that he seemed to be waiting for, had faded and he no longer had a reason to live. I had almost believed he would stand there for eternity locked in time waiting for his light.
In the morning he was no longer present. When I crept over to the place where he had stood for so long, the grass was matted down in a shape of perfect footsteps, and as the sun began to rise higher in the sky I noticed a new plumeria had blossomed. The shade of pink more vibrant than the others.