My friend Jill suggested this word to me, so this one is dedicated to you, Jill!

The breeze susurrates through the oak trees at the border of the field, the rustle barely touching my awareness. It makes the grasses surrounding me dance, ticking my cheek with questing, caressing strands.

The savoury, umami smell of our partially-consumed picnic mingles with the sharp greenness of the grass and sweet, floral scent of the meadow flowers. My belly is full of home-made quiche, all crispy, crumbly pastry and sharp goats cheese, and the juicy, summer-plump strawberries that followed.

I am lying on my back on the slightly scratchy picnic blanket, its weave prickling the backs of my bare knees and my shoulders as I bathe in the soft, restoring warmth of the afternoon sunshine.

Bees drone around me, enjoying the bounty of the abundant blossoms, occasionally drowned out by the louder hum of a plane cutting through the cloudless blue of the sky. If I open my eyes I know I’ll see its white contrails, but I can’t find the energy, enjoying the pinky-orange transparency of my eyelids against the brightness.

I am drenched in the loving, whispery warmth of the sun and I float in its embrace; at peace, imagination drifting, dreaming, flowing.

My right hand shifts slightly and touches the fingers of my companion and I smile, content.