sunday morning

I bought a package of beautiful tea towels when I stopped in Indianapolis, on my way back from Kentucky last weekend. The tray is thrifted but never felt "warm" enough to me, until accented with one of my new purchases and un pain au chocolat and tea from the bakery down the street. Every time I bite into one of these flaky masterpieces I start reminiscing about my time in France, when I started each and every morning with a pastry and a shot of espresso. Usually being after I had stayed out too late and failed to study for one of my French examens, but nonetheless—only sweet little memories.