It was Sunday July 24 when we made our way to the underground station, bags in hand, fanning ourselves to shade ourselves from the unseasonably hot London sun. We waited impatiently for 30 minutes for the train with empty stomachs. The train ride was pleasant and the subject of our conversation was Virginia Woolf, for we were entering her domain. The town of Richmond was prim and had an air of affluence to it. Upon our arrival at the park we realized we would have to ditch the taxi and walk a few miles to arrive at our destination. So, we rearmed ourselves with our heavy bags and began our two mile trek. It didn’t feel so long for there were so many delicious sights to take in and interesting people to observe and sweet-smelling plants to smell and sweet-sounding birds to hear and the relief of shade from the great English Oaks. We sensed we were nearing our destination for the spot was exactly as the people we were meeting described it; there was a glittering lake and tall grasses. Soon after, we greeted our friends and placed our picnic mats beside theirs. We passed the time by drawing each other and the landscape and eating snacks from a restaurant in the area. For a brief moment, we were all happy; all was right in the world, we all existed in perfect harmony with each other. I have come to cherish the sanctity of days like these which make life worth living and which bolster the soul against the testing days. On the car ride back to London the blissful spell was broken by bickering. We passed a deer who was grazing so close to our car; we felt lucky to have seen such a magnificent creature so closely. The tune of my favorite song was on our tongues and my little cousins kept asking me to hum it to them. We rested our heads on each others’ shoulders and nodded off to sleep as the opened top of the car let in the sun which washed over us like honey. When we arrived in London I couldn’t help but wonder why Virginia Woolf ever wanted to return.