I moved my hand over the bark of an old poplar, tracing a pattern with my index finger. I marveled at the fact that Mother Nature can weave an amazing tapestry, everything in perfect place, nothing seemed out of place, and if it did, it was beautiful. The flower in a barren land, the oasis in the desert, even the obscure patch of sand in a meadow can be beautiful in the right light. I looked down at the ground, observing the patch of emerald beneath me, then turned my head to the sky, soaking in the ocean of azure over my head. I always did like nature.

“Beth?” I heard behind me. I turned around to see no one, only wind blowing areas where the grass had not been cut or pushed down. I tilted my head and returned to my quiet observation, abandoning the curiosity of what had called me.

Bad idea.