a weekend of simple bliss. of reading in bed for hours on saturday morning. she: poser, my life in twenty-three yoga poses. he: atlas shrugged. a cup of hot chocolate for breakfast, inspired by parisians. when i am despondent, i dream of paris. when i am content, i dream of being in paris, in love. (barbara-jo mcintosh) a tin of jasmine pearl tea and her dream camera in hand, they walked home from the shops, an hour of wandering quiet evening neighborhoods in the heart of the city. she loves the city skyline at dusk. the dusk settled on the city on saturday evening and turned into thick grey fog on sunday. it poured and the skies were dark. they lit the flat with lamps all day, and candles flickered, reflecting golden light on the walls. he made lattes and fed her a spoonful of hot milky foam from the pan. it washed over her lips and fulled her mouth with warm, creamy sweetness, bubbles dissipating on her tongue. she called her mama for the family banana loaf recipe and set to work, mashing and mixing, filling the home with the scent of bananas and vanilla extract as it baked in the oven for an hour. all afternoon, they enjoyed hot mugs of jasmine tea and thick slices of warm banana loaf and salted butter. film after film is his way to savor grey sundays. they watched a silent foreign classic, set in edinburgh, making them nostalgic for what was once their home. they went to the market, braving the rain, for the weekly shop of rustic baguette and dark chocolate and basil and avocado and brown sugar. they spread a hand tossed crust with pureed cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, spinach and black pepper with bocconcini and finished with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. she was dancing around the kitchen as she cleaned, and he looked up at her with shining eyes, and called her elegant, in her simple black pants, his striped cotton tee and a wrapped ethnic pashmina and pearls. his compliments are her favourite.
