The Picnic − 16 April, 2005

We could still feel the cold ground despite the sheet we’d placed upon it, but we didn’t care. We sat between the two twisting trees that stood like battle-worn soldiers in my front yard. An assortment of food was splayed out in front of us.

It was late morning, and the heat the day would bring was still far off. For now, the air was cold so we sat close. A chorus of birds sang their sad, sweet songs above us as we ate and talked and laughed.