Risk
People come from all over at this time of the year, just to sit in the rose gardens and admire the view. Or just to sit and watch others walk by, as the sun shines warmly.
A gentle breeze sets the roses to dancing and wafts the scent to passing noses.
A red and white checked blanket is set out in a private niche of the gardens. Its occupant scans the faces of people passing anxiously, looking for one special person.
A hand reaches for the picnic basket and absentmindedly pulls out a cookie to munch on – apparently waiting is hard work and requires regular energy replenishment.
Suddenly the hand stills and a look of intense concentration appears on the face. A tall figure walks past, by the movements of his head, he is looking for something or someone. He hesitates a moment and looks towards the figure on the blanket, then shakes his head and continues on.
The hand holding the cookie sinks back to the basket. Soft blue eyes fill with tears as he walks past.
As the sun sets she begins to pack up her picnic, slowly, dejectedly. She folds the blanket and is about to set it in the basket when she hears voices.
"I'm telling you, the letter said to be here! I don't understand!"
"But didn't you say that you saw someone sitting on a blanket matching the description you were given?"
"Yes, but surely it wasn't her! She hates me!"
"Are you sure?"
The voices continue on along the path. In the resulting silence, a tear drips down a soft cheek.
"But I don't hate you" she whispers.
"Really?"
She looks up, startled. A tall figure is silhouetted against the setting sun. He gestures to the blanket.
"It's not the end of the day yet – are you giving up so soon?"
She shakes her head and lays the blanket back out on the ground. She slumps dejectedly and waits for the teasing she is sure will follow.
A weight settles next to her on the blanket.