Rose Colored Glass

Beautiful morning, with not a care in the world. I head out to the back of our land, where quiet reigns. Basket in hand, hat on my head and camera in tow.
I set the table with my Michael Miller fabric, springtime in Paris. Its just a yard I bought, not finished, never seem to be able to decide what to do with it. It works perfect for a table cloth this morning and I wonder if that is going to be its fate.
Blueberries and croissant. Iced water. My most pressing thoughts are, do I eat one berry at a time or two at a time. With one, they last so deliciously long, but if one is sour, it is not mixed with a sweet one in the mouth. A gamble to eat one alone, but I choose to be risky. I peel the croissant in layers, one at a time, bit by bit. I am alone and can make up my own table manners if I feel like it. Each buttery layer, a magnificent treat. It takes me ever so long to eat it this way. Birds singing all around me. Some creature stirs the undergrowth at the edge of the woods, catching my attention for a moment in time. Over head, blue sky, fluffy white clouds and a formation of egrets fly over. I feel spoiled. If I want, I could spend my entire morning just watching the grass grow.
Sipping the iced water reminds me that it is not hot this morning, but balmy. Lifting my glass I see the world in pink, a rose colored glass, shaping the view in kaleidoscope patterns. In childlike fashion, I start looking at everything around me through the glass. The leaves of the tree, the grass, my hat, my own foot. I totally loose track of time and purpose.