Sitting alone in the marshy grass, about thirty brilliant spotted pink orchid flowers shoot off the one upright stem. It is more vivid than any of Werner’s colors, but in the family, I think, of lake red, the shade of red tulips, Rosa officinalus, and the mineral called spinel. No animals are this shade, except perhaps some lucky birds. It is almost strange to see such a vibrant hue out here in this land of browns and grays. “That’ll make a beautiful bouquet,” I say. But Evan straightens without having picked it. “I think we’ll leave this solitary sweetie. It has its own role to play here.”
