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In my best antique French tuxedo and bowler hat, I sit on a rock having afternoon tea. My red and cream parasol rests on my shoulder, giving me a halo akin to a poppy flower. Next to me is a vintage Samsonite suitcase where a teapot and teacup rest. A makeshift table when civilization is far away. I'm sitting on a dried lake bed where the old shore edge, covered in dried brush, can be seen behind me. Gazing up at the sky, I dream of picnics and fêtes with friends, but it's a solitary existence when far from civilization and breaks for tea are only a momentary reprieve.
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