You don’t have to wait until the maple leaves turn red. The park in early autumn already holds just the right amount of warmth. At 10 o’clock in the morning under the sycamore tree, he was carrying a woven picnic basket in his hand. Seeing you arrive, he took out a light beige knitted cap from inside and said, “The wind is a bit chilly. Put it on to avoid catching a cold.”
First, walk along the path covered with fallen leaves. The ginkgo leaves are just turning yellow, and when you step on them, they make a rustling sound. He will suddenly bend down to pick up a complete leaf and place it in your palm, forming a small fan: “Look, doesn’t it look like a mini version of a parasol?” The wind sweeps up several fallen leaves and they float onto your hair. He reaches out to help you pick them off, his fingertips gently brushing against your hair, warmer than the sunlight.
He walked to the picnic area by the lake and spread out the checked tablecloth. He took out sandwiches, grapes, freshly baked cranberry cookies, and the hot milk tea you love from the basket. The cup cover was the light brown woolen style that he had knitted himself. You gave him half a cookie and he bit it, then narrowed his eyes and said, “It’s better than the last time I bought. Next time, I’ll teach you to make it.” The distant lake surface was glittering with ripples, and several wild ducks swam by, leaving shallow water marks.
When the afternoon sun grew softer, you lay on the tablecloth and watched the clouds. He pointed at a fluffy cloud in the sky and said, “Doesn’t it look like the cotton candy you ate last time?” You smiled and nodded. Suddenly, he turned to the side and gently blew a breeze with the sycamore leaves on your cheek. The fragrance of the fallen leaves mingled with the soap-like smell of his body, making you reluctant to move away.
As dusk approached, the setting sun turned the ginkgo leaves golden red. You packed up the tablecloth, and he put all the fallen leaves he had collected into your canvas bag: “Take them and put them between your books as bookmarks.” You wore the hat he gave you, holding a few maple leaves in your hand. He held your hand and led you towards the exit, saying: “Next week when the maple leaves turn red, I’ll bring you to take pictures.” The wind carried the coolness of autumn, but in my heart it was sweet as fire – it turns out that the best date is to be with the right person and turn the beginning of autumn into warmth hidden in the fallen leaves.