He had prepared his usual wonderful Sunday breakfast. As all Sunday mornings, a leisurely read in bed, tea, cuddles and conversations abounded before he took over the kitchen detail as I went to the boulangerie for fresh-baked bread.
I had moved the strawberry from my plate and put it on a surface where it would show up in a photo. A picture of a strawberry through a glass plate on a red table cloth, is not impressive.
"Everyone takes pictures of whole strawberries. And besides, this one was so sweet that I couldn't write how the flavor caressed my tongue if I hadn't tasted it, could I?"
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