I went to the garden today. It hasn't changed much since we last saw it.

It's beautiful. It always was. The earth was fresh and moist beneath my feet, the grass cool as it brushed against my ankles. The grasshoppers teased the mice before they darted away.

There was a red flower in the fields where we used to play, where we never thought anything but violet irises would grow. But the red's there, like a splash of defiance, a scream in the midst of muted faces. That was the only change I could find.

No, that's a lie. It has changed. It's untouchable now.

I thought I saw an elk pass, but it was gone before I could get a closer look. The zebras won't come near me now. The twin hawks screeched and took to flight before I could even approach.

The sparrow we loved to feed wouldn't land on my shoulder. I tried to talk to it, but it only gazed at me with sad eyes before fluttering away. What scared me most was not that it had left, but that I couldn't read those eyes. I couldn't tell what it was feeling. Their emotions are blocked from me now. Blocked from us.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

I reached the Tree at the center of the garden and stared at it for a moment, but for the life of me I couldn't see what had made it so glorious in the first place. It wasn't hallowed with gold anymore. Its leaves weren't as brilliant green. The fruits didn't look as delicious as before.

I saw a bird make its home in the Tree's trunk. I thought it was so appropriate. What