Leo unzips the first basket. Twelve triangular sandwiches tumble onto the grass. He takes a deep breath of fresh air.
He lines up the sandwiches by number: one, two, three. Then he moves to the folding tables. The wind blows a napkin right into his hair.
Leo pushes the lightest table to the edge of the grass, near the old oak tree. It wobbles dangerously under his hands.
He tries to push the heavy metal table closer, but it gets stuck on a thick tree root. Leo strains and pulls until the table finally pops free with a loud thud.
The sun is high and bright now, casting long shadows from the perfectly lined tables. Leo wipes his forehead with a clean napkin and smiles at the orderly scene.
Leo looks at his work. The park feels quiet now, just the rustle of leaves. He thinks about how good it feels to be ready.
A squirrel chatters from a branch above. Leo waves up at the busy neighbor. The bird hops away, leaving only silence.
Leo zips up the empty basket. He picks it up and turns toward home. The day was hard work, but the tables are set.