Plush ground under plush blanket.
An immense spread of picnic-type food overwhelms our stomachs and eyes.
The air is humid and sticky, but the cold, candied green tea cuts through like a knife in warm butter.
The sun weaves its way through the forests’ many limbs and appendages.
The balmy breeze brings with it the silky scent of morning dew.
The temperature dances between high and mild with the moving shade.
Friends keep moral high, dancing to vintage music and swinging and swaying on the rope swing.
We don’t count the minutes as they fly by with the planes droning above.
This day is as sweet as brown sugar.

Then it’s dark.
Mild.
The cool moisture accumulates on *****, bare feet.
The bugs and critters chitter in the moonlight.
Our party dawns their sweatshirts, but let the breeze mingle with our legs still.
Shakey, we balance on the roads’ stretched out yellow lines.
A portable lantern appears, gifting warm light to our eyes.
Mac Demarco plays in someone’s back pocket, relaxing everyone as we continue our trek.
The lapping of waves against the cold sand to our left, and the beach grass and wind to our left.