It was a rare day. You know the one where you wake up and decide to do something spontaneous, and the urge is strong enough to overpower any obligations you might have? That kind of day.

It was Tuesday. I had a big presentation on Thursday I was supposed to be preparing for. Something for the CEO about metrics and boring things my mind failed to grasp. I was on the train into town when I called in sick.

Could I lose my job?

Yes.

Did I care?

Not when the day was so blue, the sky so clear, the air so crisp.

Spring was calling me, and I have never been particularly good at denying that call.

So instead of going to work to sit in a windowless cube and stare at figures on a computer screen that only matter to shareholders, I stayed on the train for a few extra stops and walked to the arboretum.

Have you ever been to an arboretum at 6:30 in the morning?

You get to say hi to the security guard opening the gate to visitors. The only other people there are stay-at-home moms taking a jog with their strollers and the occasional bike commuter cutting through the park on their way to work.

The birds sing, the wind blows, and the trees are in full bloom. And I get to enjoy them all to myself.

It isn't long before the most perfect cherry tree stands before me in full bloom. I pull my sketch pad from my messenger bag then sit on it so I don't stain my slacks on the dew covered grass. Before I know it, it is nine and I have a perfect sketch of a cherry tree.

I stand, stretch, and move on. There is a koi pond just ahead where a nice little food truck should be set up. The owner, Josh makes the best hot dogs and breakfast sandwiches. He sees me coming and has a sausage, egg, and cheese poppyseed bagel ready for me by the time I arrive.

Truly mana from heaven.

There is no one around, so I eat while talking to him before heading to the far side of the pond, where I am obscured in the branches of a willow. It is my favorite spot: shade and privacy from which I can see the splendor of the park and enjoy the day in peace.

A orange and white koi lingers in the shade, eating dragon flies that land on the surface of the water. I love drawing koi, their colors shine like jewels on the page. I take my watercolors out of my bag and start to paint, using some water from the pond. I'm so glad I started carrying paint and color pencils in my bag. It has made my lunch breaks much more relaxing.

When I finish painting, I look down to notice the koi staring at me.

"Hello, little guy. Would you like to see?"

To my surprise, the fish ducks its head under the water and back up in a nodding motion.

I turn the picture around so he can see it. He looks at the painting, then swims quickly in a figure eight and disappears back into the pond. I smile and shake my head. What a strange interaction.

I've gotten hungry again, so I start collecting my stuff when I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

The fish is back! And it brought friends.

There are no fewer thank fifteen koi staring at me from just under the surface of the pond, with the orange and white one I just painted in the front.

"Do you want to see the picture?"

They all make that same kind of nodding motion. Do they understand me?

I turn the painting so they can all see it. They appear to study them for a moment before all making that excited figure eight motion and then coming back to stare at me.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

When the staring contest starts to drag into the uncomfortably strange territory, I ask "do you want me to draw all of you too?"

Some make the nodding motion, others dance around excitedly. I take this as a yes and turn to a fresh page in my sketch book. When they notice I am ready to paint more, they all start to swim slowly around in beautiful arcs in a way that feels like they are posing. Every once in a while, one will laizily come up for a gulp of air or to eat a bug that landed on the water.

I spend the rest of the day painting on that bank. I show them every picture before starting a new one. I paint and sketch and color with colored pencils. With every drawing more fish are drawn in until I am sure every fish in the pond is posing in front of me.

It was such a wonderful way to spend the day, I start visiting and drawing them every lunch break and after work every day. It isn't long before the fish start bringing me others to draw.

The first was a raven that landed on the far side of the pond. A fish swam up to it, paused in front of it for a moment, and swam back to me. The raven followed and landed on a small bridge about three feet away. I quickly turned to a new page and started drawing.

When I showed the raven the competed drawing, he cawed at me then flew off. I figured he was just upset I made a motion in his general direction, but he was back five minutes later with more ravens and a few pigeons.

Within a week, the birds in the park were meeting me at the entrance and posing in trees, on benches, or even on the ground for me to paint.

I became a fixture in the park. People would seek me out for drawings and paintings of the wildlife, and I was spending so much time with them, I started naming them. I thought I was crazy when they started responding to their names, and even crazier when several of the ravens figured out where I worked and lived and would accompany me on my commute.

They would watch what I ate and bring me nuts or candy wrappers. Once, they even gave me a bagel. I have no idea where they got it, or if it was really safe to eat, but I ate it all the same.

By fall, Jasmine, one of my favorite ravens, would sit on my shoulder and join me on the train ride to work. Every day, I would sketch her on the train.

About three weeks after Jasmine started shadowing me on my daily commute, it happened.

"Hey sweetheart, going anywhere? Why don't you come home with me you sexy minx."

Catcalls are nothing new. When you live in the city, they happen all the time. So I did what every self-respecting woman would do, I ignored him.

But he didn't stop.

No matter how I moved away, he crept closer, so I left the train and tried to lose him in a crowd.

It didn't work.

His verbal abuse was getting worse and more graphic every second. He would oscillate between vividly describing how he would kill me to vividly describing how he would 'love me so good' I would be unable to have anyone else for the rest of my life.

There was no one willing to stop him. No one willing to help. Even the police man I stopped said his harassment fell under free speech and if I would just talk to him and take a complement, he would leave me alone.

The problem with the city is you can easily be surrounded by people, and still be all alone.

I ducked around the corner and ran to my favorite koi pond, desperately hoping my food truck friend Josh was still there.

He wasn't.

Now I was alone, in the middle of a park, with no one in sight, at dusk. And the man was right behind me, smiling and cackling about how I must really want it to have led him somewhere so deserted.

I backed away from him, and then I heard a splash. I had backed away right into the pond.

The fish surround me. I look up at the trees that are so filled with birds and squirrels you would think the previous bare branches were full. It felt like I was in the center of a stadium, surrounded by wildlife watching a play.

A second splash.

I was so busy noticing the wildlife; I didn't notice how close he had come. He grabs my bag off my shoulder and throws it on the bank of the pond. I watch with detachment as my art supplies slide out of my bag across the ground.

He grabs at my shirt to rip it off.

I look Jasmine straight in the eye and whisper, "Help."

As one, the wildlife surges forward. Birds dive-bomb the man, and squirrels jump and claw at him. The fish swarm his legs, churning the water from a tranquil pond into violent rapids.

He swipes at the birds and screams as the rodents bite him, unconsciously stepping further and further into the depths of the pond. The fish bite and swipe at him underwater until he trips and falls in the water. The pond continues writhing for about ten minutes and then returns to its perpetually tranquil state.

The man never emerges from the depths.

I turn, looking at each of the creatures, and thank them before removing myself from the pond and gathering up my supplies. None of the birds or fish move before I am done drawing them. I want to burn this image into my mind: the time when wild animals were kinder than human beings.

After that, Jasmine never missed a commute, and I was escorted everywhere by no fewer than ten birds.

A few weeks later, I saw a missing poster for the man at the supermarket. I used one of the last pay phones in the city a month later and left an anonymous tip that I saw him in the park a couple of weeks ago. They dredged the pond and took the body.

After all, a decaying body isn't good for the fish.