Gentle breeze. Dog sprawled out by my side. A Mexican coke. A dusted off lawn chair. Sun on my shoulders. Sketch pad on my lap. A picnic would be nice. Charcuterie. A linen sheet on my freshly mowed lawn. Wine? It’s a Sunday but hey—whatever. A lover? That’d be ideal. Gentle touches. I’d play a Duster album or something. My music would synergize with the chirping birds above us. We could read together after eating salted ham. The ridiculously thin kind that is a pinkish-translucent hue. Prosciutto? Priscotto? Prosinto? What is that called? Eh, something like that. Cheese too. Different types of Amish cheese. I like the one with habanero the best. Oh, also fruit. An assortment of berries and dried apricots. Yeah. Laying in the heat. Meat, cheese, and fruit on a slab of hard maple. Perfect. So glad you are here with me. Your nose is getting burnt. You don’t really care, politely declining to wear one of my spare hats. I worry about you sometimes. Your eyes are all squinty with the rays beaming down on your face. You smile. I smile back. I love you. This must be what heaven feels like. My eyes open. Dog is no longer at my feet, he is in the bushes now. I should daydream less. “Come here silly mutt. You are going to get yourself covered in burs wandering around like that”.