I was on my way to meet a friend. It was morning and the shadows were long. The night had been cool, although bright sunshine promised a warmer day. Pono bounded ahead of me, excited about the cool air and the prospect of being outside. I was still a bit groggy from sleep as I trudged up the dusty hill. This wasn't the kind of meeting that had been arranged ahead of time, but this friend is the kind who stays in one place. She's steadfast and dependable. It didn't even occur to me that she might not be there. As I approached her usual spot, I looked up. At first, it didn't register. I knew something was amiss, but I was still groggy enough to not realize what it was. Then, it hit me. She wasn't there. It didn't make any sense. She was always there! Confusion.
When I finally reached the crest of the hill and looked around, I saw it all. The evidence was all there in front of me. She had been cut - hacked apart, really. The marks in the sand clearly showed how she had been dragged from where she was standing. She was in pieces. Someone had burned her. I felt pain, sharp and deep. Tears didn't come at first. I merely stood there, shocked and frozen. How could someone be so cruel? Who would do such a thing? It was unthinkable, yet there it all was, in front of me. And I was too late to do anything to save her.
I then began to think about her and what she meant to me. Her beautiful, long limbs. Her strength. The way she flowered last spring. The way she looked when the morning light hit her. How I always felt comfort when I saw her. She asked nothing of me, or anyone. I am convinced she knew things I didn't. Now she is gone. Forever. She died, for one night of campfire pleasure.