Sundays are glorious. Downy duvet hugs give way to gentle lazy, picnic lunches, big smiles and enthusiastic conversations. Our children kick off their shoes and take flight, giving their town limbs over to country trees and grassy slopes. Oversized glasses filled with chilled Rosé, shared with crunchy canapés adorned with perfect toppings. Some tart, some creamy, all bursting with flavor, hand crafted and produced by the domestic goddesses who are my friends. What can I say, I choose well? Flopped down in splotchy shade with hats and loafers and gentle breezes we spend long moments staring up at the clouds that drift by; dragons, rabbits, a solitary flower, pushed gently and quietly on their way to make space for the rest of parade.
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