a perfect hour

They're cutting the hay in our pasture, and every time I step outside, I'm inundated with the sweet, delightful smell of sun-kissed hay. It permeates every corner of our yard, wafted here and there by a gentle, pleasant breeze, and I went out to eat my lunch of lime infused, baked tilapia and hard boiled eggs on the picnic table.

The perfumed air danced around me, my book was an old favorite, my Jones Soda was icy cold, and it was difficult to decide which was more beautiful, the blue, happy sky above or the freshly cut hay below, lying greenish gold in neat rows.

In other words, I challenge any prince or king, millionaire or president, celebrity or ordinary person, to truthfully say they were happier and more content at that very moment than I.