Today is Midsummer's Day, and you are having an outdoor feast for supper. You can smell the sweet aromas coming off of the home-made food as come down the hill to a cluster of picnic tables. The hill is covered in that kind of tall grass that looks like it hasn't been cut in years, and tickles when it grazes your skin. You wade through the tall grass, look up at the still-blue sky, and marvel at that fact despite the time being later than 8:30 PM. You continue to look up at the crystal clear sky, while trudging down the hill, making sure to shield your eyes from the sun with one hand. You finally make it down to the picnic tables, where you gasp at the spread laid out on three of the tables. You drag your eyes over every last bit of food, your mouth salivating, standing perfectly still. The first things to catch your eye are five platters of pork tenderloins, dressed regally in the center of all the food. Off to the sides, you see bowls upon bowls of fruit, all placed inconspicuously around the table cluster: strawberries, blueberries, bananas, raspberries! Kiwi, lemon, mango, watermelon, cantaloupe! Honeydew, peaches, and dragonfruit! Then, next, you see medium-sized bowls of garden salads, readily waiting to be eaten in the first course. You can smell the aroma of fresh produce coming off of the salad, and waft it in hungrily. The salads are alike to a miniaturized painting of a landscape. The lush, green lettuce serves as a background for a host of smaller explosions of color, denoting different fruits and vegetables. Waiting on a napkin next to the salads are steaming bread rolls, each with a dollop of butter ready to be smeared on. Before you even comprehend it, you find yourself walking towards the tables, and before you know it. You are sitting down with everyone else. First, you attack the bread. You smear the creamy butter all over the bread’s surface and swallow it in few bites. Next, you eye the salad hungrily. You pour all manner of sauce onto your salad, then you carefully pick apart the lush greenery that is the garden salad. As you wait for the others to finish their first course, you nonchalantly pop a “few” more bread rolls into your mouth while no one is looking. Out o the corner of your eye, you see someone wheel in a grill, and they start flipping some burgers, while others bring in pizza boxes. As everyone starts to get up and pick and choose what foods o eat, you get up and take a mixture of everything, and sit back down again. You systematically eat your way through two hamburgers, one cheeseburger, 3 helpings of salad, a bunch of bread rolls, and 4 pieces of tenderloin. Your plate has been emptied and refilled many times, and currently, only a piece of tenderloin remains. You stare it down, cutting it up, and slowly eating it gingerly, piece by piece, because you feel as though your stomach is about to burst. Afterward, you slide one of the fruit bowls over to you, but you are starting to feel tired, so you only eat three-quarters of it. Then, having finished their meals, people start conversing with friends, so you talk to the people on either side of you.
30 minutes later, the dessert is brought out, and despite having engorged yourself earlier, merely viewing the dessert rekindles the hunger within you. It is a multi-tiered, seven-layer, cake, that has a broad plethora of flavors. You spy vanilla, chocolate, red velvet, cookies & cream, carrot, cheesecake, and so many more. A single file line is established to help streamline the process of getting a slice of the magnificent cake. You manage to push your way to the front and get a larger slice than everyone else. On the top of your slice, you see the letters, “ppy Mids”, a fragment of the statement, “Happy Midsummers’ Day!”, which is why this entire feast of awesome deliciousness is occurring at all. You eat it, but you do so carefully, taking the time to savor every bite, unlike how you did so earlier. You have finished your cake, it is dark outside now. You slowly drift into sleep. You feel yourself being carried into a car, but you are so tired that you don’t care to stir from where you are. You are lulled back to sleep by the rhythm of the car driving on smooth asphalt. You are woken up a few hours later (or what feels like a few hours later), so you drag yourself inside, walk to the kitchen counter, sit there, and drink coffee.