I want to invite you to a picnic. It will take place on a cliff overlooking an ocean so tantalizingly blue that your heart will sigh, your knees will knock, and your soul will swoon into a satisfying sea of content.

I am inviting you to this picnic because the air outside is chilly and damp, the countryside is desolate and bleak, your skin is dry; your lips are chapped; and a relentless coldness has crept into your bones.

Mostly, I want to you to go on this picnic because it is winter, and you are tired of winter. And because you are tired of being tired of winter.

First, though, I must tell you what you are having for lunch. I’m very proud that I was able to fit it all in an old-fashioned willow wicker basket equipped with long stemmed goblets, white ceramic plates, a perky plaid tablecloth, and enough room to hold a bottle of sparkling cider. As well as food. Lots of food.

You are going to be hungry when you get to your picnic, because you will have climbed to the top of a hill, and all along the way, you will be inhaling great gasps of sweetly salted ocean air.

You will be very, very hungry.