The Birth of a Day

This is the face of a gal who has seen thirty-two years on this earth.  I suppose that also make this a shameless plug for my birthday!  Way to live me!  As has become a birthday tradition, I greeted the dawn solo and silent, with the crash of waves and a rich cacophony of bird song.  In the dark of morning I dressed like the dunes: all shades of olive and navy and salt-soaked driftwood.  But then the sun rose and I found myself on a beach dressed in coral and fire.  One should only ever emulate nature, never compete, because I tell you true, she'll take your breath away every time.

Now I'm home, full up on poached eggs and avocado on toast, ready to spoil myself rotten for the day!  I'm going to have a THIRD cup of coffee, a cookie before noon, and generally indulge myself as I see fit.  If only I had a pony.  That would be perfect.  I'd saddle him up and we'd gallop along the river right into the heart of the redwoods, puppies at our heels, where I'd set up a tent and we'd share a bucket of carrots and oats.  Afterwards I'd don heels and BC would pour a martini as foxes slipped by, owls flashed white in the night and we danced to blues around a camp fire.

I think that could work out quite nicely.

So as I go about my day, I'm curious:  Tell me, if you could celebrate your birthday in any fashion, in any locale, in any activity, what would you do?

I'm off for that cookie.
~ Umber ~