A blanket of sun's warmth on your skin. You can hardly see past the grass caressing your face, your cheek pressed to cool earth. You are bare, comfortable, laying in a field that stretches on and on beneath the cerulean sky. Bursts of colorful flower patches drink in the daylight. You are not yourself, but you are something good.

It is effortless to clear your mind. Blades rustle in your ear as if to whisper, as the crawling of a beetle tickles your heel. The radiant sol gazing down has you full and brimming, and you are so content you can hardly move. But you must move.

Once you get up, you can hardly stop. Your legs spring into action, feet carrying you wherever you please. You trip, fall and tumble, then get back up again. Nothing aches--the only pain you feel serves to sweeten. You wish you could run forever. A euphoric flame licks high at the idea. Eternal sun.

At some point you fall and do not push yourself back up. The ground is refreshing and soft, and prickly in all of the right places. You cannot help but doze.

And then, you wake.