Flowers for Tom! Maybe there's more than one miracle

The woman walking ahead of me on the narrow forest path sparked my interest. It wasn't her appearance. She was rather plain, wearing a rain jacket, jeans and ankle-high hiking boots. Her hair was grey and cropped short. I hadn't seen her face yet as I was walking behind her, but I was close enough to notice her behaviour. The woman was throwing small, coloured flowers onto the path, which she was carrying in a thick bouquet.

It was a headache that had made me decide to go for a walk on this rather dull and rainy morning. Usually, the headache would disappear after a long walk through the forest. In this weather, I didn't expect to meet many other hikers – and I didn't. That is, until I met this woman, who was scattering flowers around like a bridesmaid at a wedding.

I'm not usually the intrusive type and don't tend to observe my fellow human beings very closely. I prefer to 'live and let live'. This tendency is often interpreted by my few friends as superficiality. However, this woman's behaviour made me really curious. She wasn't walking very fast, so I picked up the pace and quickly caught up with her.

When I caught up with her, I took a quick look at her face and smiled. She was probably in her fifties or possibly older. She looked friendly, and she wasn't wearing any makeup.

'Hello', I greeted her, running alongside her. Her grey eyes looked at me kindly and inquisitively.

'Hello', she replied, smiling at me. 'You've been walking behind me for quite a while. Is that true, young man?'

I couldn't disagree with that, so I decided to be honest. 'Yes, and I'd like to know why you kept throwing flowers on the ground.'

She stood still, looked me in the eye and laughed. 'That must have looked crazy. But I'll tell you if you're really interested.'

As we walked slowly side by side, she told me about her friend, Tom. 'The best I ever had. He was a big guy, very sporty and always up for a joke.' They were bound by their love of nature and walking, often spending whole days and nights outside. 'He always understood me and was always there for me. I didn't need to say much. He could instantly sense how I felt and would do his best to cheer me up.'

The ideal of true friendship as described in books came to mind. It was the kind of friendship that my parents showed me in books, and I loved it. But I forgot about it – it's strange that I'm thinking about it right now. It was a long time ago – I'm over thirty now. Yet the woman kept talking about how they used to go on holiday together and how inseparable they were.

I wasn't really listening, though, as I was time-travelling back to my childhood. I had friends like that – the kind who would often argue, but always stick together like superglue whenever the adults, especially the teachers, took issue with them. We had fun together, hung out, and squinted in the sun. The way the woman described it was reminiscent of my own childhood.

It's strange that these things have disappeared from my life. I didn't even realise when that happened. I had acquaintances and like-minded people to go to the pub with, as well as female friends, but I didn't have any real friends like Tom. He always seemed to know when to give someone space or lend them a shoulder to cry on.

Then my companion's words came back to me with complete clarity: 'We went through thick and thin together for sixteen years, and a few weeks ago he died of cancer.' I swallowed, not knowing what to say, but she put a hand on my arm. 'It's all right, young man. You see, this path was our favourite route as long as he wasn't that ill yet. We probably walked it together several hundred times. That's why I walk here in his honour and scatter these flowers for him. Or actually for me, because he probably didn't care for pansies.'

I nodded, understanding what she meant. Then she pulled a wallet from her jeans, searched through the compartments and held up a photo. 'This is Tom.'

I probably looked totally stupid. What would have been obvious to anyone else hadn't got through to me. The photo showed a large, long-haired dog panting happily and grinning at the camera.

The woman laughed and closed the wallet. She continued to talk about Tom and the good times they had had together. By the time we got back to the car park an hour and a half later, I was completely captivated by the tales in which this dog played the leading role, and by the friendship he had fostered.

'Will you come here again?' I asked as we said goodbye.

'Sure, because I'm going to the animal shelter next week. It won't be anything like Tom, but I'll probably find another animal to give a home to, and it'll be just as wonderful. That's probably what Tom would have wanted. He didn't like it when I was sad.'

I stared at the woman in amazement for a moment, then fumbled for my business cards and gave her one. 'It has my phone number on it. Will you take me there? Maybe there's more than one miracle in canine form.'

I probably turned bright red when I said this, but the woman just smiled and said, 'We could go together, the four of us.'

That was two weeks ago, and this morning I received a call. I have a special meeting at the animal shelter today. I'm really looking forward to it!

© 'Flowers for Tom! Maybe there's more than one miracle': A short story by Pressenet (translated by Izabel Comati), 12/2025. Image credit: The picture shows a person walking with dogs in autumn, CC0 (Public Domain Licence).