[ Her tolerance for this has definitely deteriorated over the decades but at the moment, she's wondering how anyone can consider this feeling bad.

She lays there, honey colored curls fanned out around her head, long, slender arms reaching up and back over her head as she stretches and shifts against the sleeping bag, eyes open but lidded, caramel lashed framing clear, crystalline emeralds.

She's been in and out of the house for hours to help set things up, leaving her with a soft glow about her, her skin smelling of the summer breeze and the garden and the sun itself. She feels good, and warm, enjoying the feel of the skirt shifting with her, moving against the skin on her thighs. ]

...this was a good idea.