The Picnic

It was the middle of September and summer was drawing to an end. The days were warm and the nights were cool enough for a light sweater or jacket.

I was with my lover on this beautiful day on our way from London to Boulogne, France. He was an executive with a major company in England and I was a mid-level manager with a major company in America. We had met a couple of years earlier when he was on a trip to America and were very much in love.

He owned a small house in Boulogne, which he used for weekends when he spent time with his children. Boulogne is a historical city on the English Channel coast and is like a fairy tale come alive.

I had flown into Heathrow Airport in London. He picked me up and we drove to the Ferry in Folkston and crossed over to Boulogne. We spent the weekend at the house and on Monday, we packed and prepared to drive to Basil in Switzerland. We decided that since the weather was so beautiful, we would pack a picnic lunch of fresh French bread, a meat pate, butter, a bottle of red wine, glasses, etc., so we could stop along the way to eat rather than finding a restaurant.

After several hours we came upon a parking area alongside a nice stream. There were a lot of trees for shade and a grassy area that was great for spreading a lunch. After eating, we lay on the blanket we had spread and enjoyed the view and the babbling stream. We were the only ones there.

I found a patch of clover in bloom nearby, so I returned to my childhood and made my lover a clover chain necklace and ring. He was delighted because he had not done any thing like this before meeting me. The English can be different.

After a while we returned to the car and completed our trip to Switzerland for his meeting.

The next day he had to take his boss to the airport so he could fly back to London.
He told me that nothing was said, but his boss kept looking and smiling at the necklace and ring that was now hanging on the car radio knobs.