An Autumn Picnic- short story

The wind rattled the dying trees to their roots. Every breeze slaughtered many fair golden leaves like a

sword slash. On the youngest and smallest tree stood only one leaf valiantly resisting the tide of winter,

until it could stand no longer.

Noiselessly the leaf gave away hold of its maternal branch and, to the leaf’s astonishment, it was gently

flown around the park: it flew past tiny seedlings scattered amongst the grass and birds silently drinking

out of water basins while other busier birds filled the sky with song. It flew under the feet of men and

over the shoulders of women until the wind tour reached a stop.

The flowing wind ceased to flow and instead went back and forth as if rocking the golden leaf to sleep.

Just before the world darkened to the eyes of the leaf it was shocked awake as it touched the moist,

moss-covered ground. Its whole body felt immense pressure: not the xylem snapping type, but the body

supporting type. It felt more comfortable than when it was just a small leaf in spring, yet the peculiarity

of this new sensation prevented the leaf from falling asleep which gave it time to look more closely at

the human at hand.

A handsome young man with brown hair and eyes was sitting alone on a green blanket. He was smiling

while gazing off into the distance. He was deep in thought when he was called back to reality.

“What is Auguste Rodin’s Thinker doing out and about in a public park?”

He need not strain his eyes to know who said that remark; he smiled and stood up.

“Waiting for his strawberry-lipped darling to turn up.”

“Can you tell me more about her, I might have seen her on the way,” she said putting her hands on his

shoulders.

“Of her shape, there is much to tell: she has two innocent honey eyes, a small nose which turns red at

the tip when she laughs, and lips like strawberries.” His smile grew as he examined her eyes. “Of her

character, there is much much more to tell that if I spoke of her rebellious spirit the sun would tire from

sitting in the sky.”

“Huh. Sounds familiar,” she smiled, “where have I seen a person like that before?” her voice faded as

she said those last words.

“You can see her in my eyes,” he said and kissed her.

The leaf was surrendering wakefulness again when it was dragged around the ground in a circle. When

its fit of terror ceased it noticed that another leaf had landed beside it. It spoke to the other leaf, but the

other leaf seemed too overwhelmed with new sensations to talk, so the first leaf just looked back at the

human.

He was now sitting on the blanket again; he had his arm around his love. The bubbly, white clouds flirted

in the clear, blue sky while birds glided under them whistling epics of romance. Life above the tree

branches was never still unlike life under.

A squirrel was trying to fit three acorns in its mouth while a child sat next to an ant hill wondering why

there were no ants. A writer sat under the great branches of a leafless tree starring at an empty page.

Two lovers sat together listening to their breaths mix.

The child left after his mother came calling, and the squirrel decided to take two trips carrying the

acorns to its home. The writer had written a bit then ripped the page off and continued starring at a new

empty page, yet the two lovers remained seated, smiling into the distance.

Finally, the young man broke the silence. “I missed the sound of your breath,” he blushed.

“And I yours,” she looked ap at his eyes, “I missed the sound of your heart and the movement of your

mouth and the feeling of what it is like to stare into your eyes.”

A tear travelled down her cheek and fell down onto the green blanket. “I missed being next you,” she

took a deep breath, “but you have to move on.” Her lips twitched.

“But I don’t want to,” his eyes filled up with tears and his face reddened, “all I want is to be with you

darling. To be here sitting under the sun holding each other's hands: that’s what I want”

“I want that too! I also want the best for you. You have to accept that I left two years ago. That night in

the car-”

“That night I should have been driving.”

“That night I left. It was not up to you, nor was it your fault.”

“Yet it was my fault. If I wasn’t too lazy to drive, you would have stayed alive; I mean, you had

everything going for you. Do you hear yourself? You are the one strong enough to move on...” his voice

became coarse, “I am nothing without you.”

They both sat silent for a moment, and then she said, “I cannot keep on coming here.”

“Can we speak about something else? Your best friend is getting married next Friday; isn’t that

awesome news!” he forced a smile through his tear covered face.

She looked away, “you know I would forever love you, but-”

“Please stay here with me, for me, just tonight,” he said. She looked at him, and another tear travelled

down her other cheek. Then, she put her head on his shoulder, and they both sat silent.

The leaf was thinking over that lonely human’s peculiar behavior of talking and crying with no one. Then

before it was aware of it, it was being carried by the wind again. Through the whistling of the wind, it

could hear the other leaf shouting goodbye. It was excited to see where it might be carried next, but its

flight was short as it landed on the writer’s empty notebook. As he looked at the leaf, his eyes began to

glow, and he began writing swiftly.