All was still. In fact, everything around them indicated it was the perfect day. The old oak that was sheltering them was just beginning to turn, its leaves only showing a hint of the deep crimson shade that they would become in the ensuing weeks. Now and then a jittery squirrel would come bounding up its branches with a clutch full of acorns. The flowers and grasses barely flitted, so gentle and infrequent was the breeze that caressed them. The sun was approaching the end of its journey for the day and and very slowly stretched and waned as if it, too, felt the calm, peacefulness of the day.
“Did you even hear anything I said, Alon?” Gilia asked in obvious disdain. Alon was caught completely off guard, for, in truth, he hadn't heard much of what she said. Still, he dare not reply, because if he tried to lie to her, she was almost sure to know and was bound to become even more cross. If he was to tell her the truth, however, it was just as nearly as bad, for he would have to face her rolling eyes and the lecture that had become so common in their conversations lately. He still remembered when they first met many years ago. They were barely children, but there was something even then, that brought them together as friends.
