Well into Autumn, there was a single, beautifully constructed yellow rose, unblemished, growing close to the edge of the garden and within easy reach of people walking the footpath.
Looking carefully both ways, she, without a glance at her companion, stood close to the last rose in this unknown person’s loved garden.
They were an elderly couple; their faces lined under grey hair, his shrunken shoulders bent as he shuffled on. Was he aware that she would pick the rose before returning to his side? This was an opportunity to benefit them both by theft, denying the countless people who passed that way, the joy of watching the rose come to full bloom when it was ready to give many days of pleasure in the cool mountain air before surrendering to nature.
Would the elderly couple recognize a selfish act as they nurtured it in their unit, no doubt brightening theirs and their cat’s lives whilst the world trudged by that little garden? But what of the owner, now denied the last days of her autumn show?
As they walked on, one recognized the smugness, the satisfaction of having accomplished a well-practiced theft.