27 WinnieWinnie perched on a rough pine bench and rested her elbows on the splintery plank top of the picnic table. Someone had moved a pair of tables out from under the metal roof of the six-poled shelter and positioned them side by side.
She’d picked the one unshaded seat, pleased she could feel the full effect of the fading sunlight. This evening, the rays were gentle and the temperature was a perfect seventy-two degrees.
A soft breeze fluttered the golden leaves clinging to the aspens that ringed the open picnic area. The setting sun poured through the shelter, casting long bars of shade over the neatly mown grass. Between them, the sun gilded the fallen leaves littering the lawn, turning them to shiny bands of gold separated by dark stripes of shadow.
This section of the park was a
