from an 8-year-old.





it was a day for one really good latte.

it was a day to go to a new favorite café, pick a small table in the quietest corner of the patio, and sit down with a cherished book. a day to eat brunch slowly and taste every single bite. to look longingly at the contents of the pastry case, and then decide – what the hell – to take a fat slice of lemon poppy seed cake home… perhaps for later, when it is a different kind of day – a day that needs cake. it was a day to walk back to the car with the sun on your shoulders, thinking of nothing in particular and feeling glad. a day to roll down the windows and let the afternoon air whip through. a day to feel like yourself again.

on a day like this, it isn’t hard to be happy.