They lay on a bed of golden brown autumn leaves. The water from the lake slowly evaporating from their restless bodies. The balmy summer evening glistening in bittersweet reflection. The hesitant hands wandered everywhere and yet never reached. A decade later, those leaves moaned a protested crunch under the sad retreating steps. As if to say, don’t leave this autumn bereft again. They stared into the placid depths of the same lake that had once cooled the abundance of spontaneity. As if willing to be carried away with the tides of flotsam jetsam. But search as they may, that summer was never to come again.