Nature's Song
I came across Ivo sitting on a rock alone in the clearing. He was staring raptly at the red columbine between his fingers, holding the delicate flower carefully in his steely hands. I knew he had not picked it, he would never have done such a thing. He would not have disturbed the bees attacking him, apologizing instead for disturbing them.
He was admiring the flower, the way a man admires a woman, makes love to her. He was speaking silently that unique language of appreciation – as tree speaks to stone and stone speaks to water. He did not hear me approach and would not have seen me come and go if I had not interrupted.
The noise startled him and he jerked involuntarily, ripping the head of the flower from its body. He looked at what he had done and I saw sadness on his face.
I felt like I had just committed murder.