Sunday afternoon, late March, and Kleinpiet finally worked up the courage to ask Precilla out on a date. Braaivleis at the fountain next to Bokkop. To his utter surprise, she smiled and said yes.
He prepared with care. Fresh loin chops, a cool bottle of Chardonnay, some wood. Fresh bread and butter and fig jam. A blanket – no chairs; he felt slightly guilty about that.
She waited for him at her front door, chequered shirt, jeans, sensible shoes. Cowboy handkerchief around her neck. She looked gorgeous. He felt better about the chairs.
Under the only tree next to Bokkop, he made them comfortable. It is autumn, and a single brown leaf settled on her hair. They laughed.
The wine was excellent, the meat done just right. The shadows grew longer.
“I love you,” he said.
At first she gasped, not wanting to believe a man could say such a thing to her. Then she saw his soft eyes pleading, wanting, asking.
And she got up, crying, and ran back to the safety of town; while he picked up the leaf that had settled a few hours ago on the crown of freshly-washed hair. And he tried and tried – but couldn’t make the leaf stick to the branch again.
The season was over. Winter was on its way.