…be sitting on a palm beach. The sun would be high in the sky, with a few clouds dotted here and there. The sand would be warm and soft between my toes, and I would be listening to the gentle lap lap of the waves breaking on the shore close by.
There would be a small wicker table next to me, adorned with petals of frangipanji and a tall ice cold cocktail, bluer than the ocean. A wedge of pineapple and a cherry would line the sugar-rimmed glass, and inside, a silly-straw. A fresh fruit salad would be waiting, served in a clear glass bowl with a side of rum and raisin ice-cream. The portions of the many fruit would be perfect: not too much of this, and not too little of that.
There would be a gentle breeze blowing. Cool enough to refresh, but warm enough to remain pleasant. Palm fronds would rustle just behind my lounger, and would provide a comfortable and natural shade cover. The lounger would be covered with the softest towel, a light lilac in colour, and all around would be the smell of lavendar and sea.
Aside my chair, wedged slightly in the sand where I’d have put it, would be a book. A book with intrigue and mystery, firey passion, a dash of drama, and a splattering of humour. The kind of book you struggle to put down after getting into it.
I’d be loooking out on an ocean of the clearest blue water imaginable. I’d be able to see the sand through the ripples of water, and if I moved closer, I’d see a few fish darting around. The occasional dolphin or few would play in the waves further out, and there would be a turtle laying eggs in the sand a short way away.
It would be peaceful. So quiet. Very tranquil. Right now, that’s where’d I’d rather be.