Blacktail Deer Plateau frozen in timeless aura, a catalyst of colors

He continued to watch the bee, transfixed by the frantic busy-ness of its movements. Methodically, the striped insect bathed itself in golden powder, rubbing its fuzzy sides against the vibrant petals of the flower. Abruptly, it rose and darted to another flower nearby, though Atticus's brain was still running much too slowly to process the sudden movement. He continued staring at the now-empty flower, bewildered. Where had the bug gone? What happened?

Just then, however, a shadow fell across him and there was a sudden relief from the blinding light of the sun. Words were said, though he could not quite put together what they meant just yet. But he looked at her. Just that in itself was a huge change, for in the past, there had been no response whatsoever, no movement to acknowledge that he heard what was being said to him. But this time, he looked at her. His head rose, slowly, and pale blue eyes beheld a face of beauty and compassion. He knew this face. Though he could not place its significance, he felt his heart stir. The confusion he felt at this showed on his face as he gazed up at her.