Paige Hopkins cradled the warm cup in her hand and blew through the vent on the lid—her first hot caramel apple cider of the season. Every year she celebrated the first cold day of autumn with the sweet drink, but fall weather had arrived late this year. For the only time she could remember, she’d had to wait until after the fall equinox to indulge in her tradition. Only by a day, but a solid two weeks later than normal.
The wait had been worth it. Today’s temperature peaked at fifty-nine degrees, and a gentle breeze rustled the turning leaves. Soon, those trees would blaze with shades of red, yellow, and orange. The warmer summer had delayed the peak season of fall foliage which brought many tourists to Covington, Vermont.
She left the parking lot and crossed the street to the park that had a two-mile walking path. Ever since Clyde’s Coffee opened several years ago, Paige made a habit of walking the circle after getting her drink whenever she had the time.
After this weekend, her free time would be virtually non-existent. All next week she’d stay busy with the final preparations that came with opening Hopkins’ Farms Pumpkin Patch. Although she’d miss time to herself over the next several months, she loved being a part of her family’s business.
Stepping onto the paved path, she ran down a mental list of tasks to complete when she went home. As the activity coordinator for the farm, she was responsible for planning activities which provided each guest with an experience to remember. The pick-your-own pumpkin patch and corn maze remained the large draws year after year, but the small attractions set the farm apart from others in the area.
She had to check the pumps for the rubber duck races. When she’d tried them earlier in the week, two pumps were stuck, and her brother Josh—in charge of maintenance—was to fix them yesterday. Mom also wanted her to help decorate after she picked up the florals from the nursery this afternoon.
Paige smiled. Even as she reviewed what tasks still needed completion, no stress mounted. She loved every aspect of her job and considered herself fortunate. How many people had the luxury of gainful employment in a career they loved without leaving home?
A gust blew, loosening leaves from the branches above. They fluttered across the path, some catching on nearby limbs and others finding their way to the ground. Paige stooped down and picked up an oval-shaped leaf which had already turned yellow with several brown spots dotted between its veins. When another breeze cut across the way, she released the leaf and watched it glide away.
She sipped her cider, enjoying the peaceful setting. Although she loved the bustle at home, she also enjoyed the tranquility of a solitary walk through nature. This was her time to gather her thoughts and refresh her soul without the tug of responsibilities calling. Once she went home, she’d be immersed in work, which she loved, but there would be no quiet at the farm. Not until late in the night when everyone had gone to sleep, including her.
Humming as she walked, she glanced up at the sky. She’d always loved the image of leaves against the backdrop of cerulean blue. Vivid greens in the spring and blazes of fire in the fall. If she ever had the time, she’d like to take an easel and palette into the woods and capture the scene. She smirked, remembering the last time she’d painted—eleven years ago in a high school elective class. All it took was one semester to teach her she’d never be a Van Gogh or Picasso.
The sound of hard-hitting footsteps tore her attention from the sky. She looked forward and saw a man running toward her, his phone held to his ear. Apparently unaware of her, he made no attempt to step aside and bypass her.
How rude. Can’t anyone do anything without their phones attached to them? She had her phone in her pocket, but only as a safety precaution.
Left with no other choice to avoid a collision, she moved to the edge of the paved pathway. Unfortunately, the man preoccupied with his phone conversation chose that moment to reach into the pocket of his track pants and veered off his straight line.
He pulled out a set of keys moments before Paige could process his detour, and they collided.
Her left arm that held her drink took the brunt of the force, and her cider splashed out of the cup before falling to the ground and spilling onto her new suede boots. The liquid seeped through her Pima cotton shirt and warmed her skin. A quick glimpse of her boots showed a three-inch stain with splash marks.
The man lowered his phone. “I’m so sorry.”
Before she could respond, he replaced the phone to his ear and ran off. No inquiries as to how she fared. No offer to help her clean the mess. Not even the courtesy to retrieve her empty cup from the ground.
Annoyance built, starting in her stomach and working its way to her chest then mouth until she wanted to turn around and shout at the man, inform him of his barbaric behavior. Instead, she clenched her fists as though gripping a rail which would prevent her from turning, and she counted to ten. What a sad state we live in when a phone conversation trumps basic manners.
Still reeling, she knelt down and cleared her boots of the remaining drops of cider. She’d clean them when she got home and soak her shirt. The cup, propelled by a low wind, rolled several feet away. She hurried to grab it, then another gust blew it further.
Paige exhaled. Not funny. Her good mood and day had been ruined by a careless moron. If she continued her walk, she might be able to recapture the serenity of minutes ago, but the stickiness on her arm proved too big of a distraction. Best to get home, change, and then work on her mood.
She caught the cup and tossed it into the nearest trash can. By the time she made it back to her car, she’d calmed down. For the most part. A fleeting irritation popped up every time the fabric of her shirt stuck to her arm, but she wouldn’t let a brutish stranger steal her joy.