I want to invite you to a picnic. It will take place on a cliff overlooking an ocean so tantalizingly blue that your heart will sigh, your knees will knock, and your soul will swoon into a satisfying sea of content.
I am inviting you to this picnic because the air outside is chilly and damp, the countryside is desolate and bleak, your skin is dry; your lips are chapped; and a relentless coldness has crept into your bones.
Mostly, I want to you to go on this picnic because it is winter, and you are tired of winter. And because you are tired of being tired of winter.
First, though, I must tell you what you are having for lunch. I’m very proud that I was able to fit it all in an old-fashioned willow wicker basket equipped with long stemmed goblets, white ceramic plates, a perky plaid tablecloth, and enough room to hold a bottle of sparkling cider. As well as food. Lots of food.