He moved slowly now, eyes straight ahead, his stride long. He came to a small clearing. The afternoon sun was still bright overhead. There was rich high grass waving in the breeze. Blue columbine, the Colorado state flower, was blooming wildly, soft and delicate, already welcoming spring. It was a beautiful spot, one he hadn't yet found on his daily treks.

He waited now, his face upturned to the slanting sun, listening. There was a squirrel running up a tree, a distinct sound, one he'd learned very quickly to identify. The squirrel scampered out on a narrow branch, making it wave up and down, its leaves rustling with the weight and movement.

Then there wasn't anything at all, just silence.

He knew the sun wouldn't be shining on him much longer; shadows were already lengthening, swallowing the light. Soon it would be as dark as Susan's hair in the forest. No, he wouldn't think about Susan.

Actually it had been a very long time since he'd thought about Susan. It was time to go home, back to his cabin where he'd laid wood for a fire that morning, still waiting for a single match. He'd gotten good at building fires both in the fireplace and in the woodstove. He'd slice up some fresh tomatoes and shred some iceberg lettuce he'd bought two days before at Clement's. He'd heat up some vegetable soup. He stepped back into the thick pine forest.

But what had he heard?

It was darker now than it had been just two minutes before. He had to walk carefully. His sleeve caught on a pine branch. He stopped to untangle himself. He had to lay down the ax.

It was then he saw the flash of light yellow off to his right. For a moment, he just stared at that light yellow. It didn't move and neither did he.

He quickly picked up his ax. He walked toward that light yellow patch, pausing every few seconds, his eyes straining to make out what it was.