You are standing on the deck of a graceful schooner, bobbing at a mooring in a peaceful cove on Catalina.
It is warm and balmy, but a cool and steady breeze makes the night delicious. There is not a hint of cloud in the sky. The Milky Way is a vivid sash on the black velvet robe of the night sky. Each star a brilliant gem, in the glittering crown of the firmament.
As every year on your birthday, there is a meteor shower. The near-perfect blackness of the Pacific night makes each falling star a wild and fulminating streak of brilliance against the darkness. The music of Nick Drake is playing. Someone you love is leaning against your back.
Happy birthday, you lucky bastard. What do you wish for when they all already came true?