Petit Dejeuner

Sun poured into the dining area. The terra cotta teapot gave off the peppery smell of Earl Grey tea. A warmed multi-grain bread was wrapped in a napkin and a samovar of coffee was heated by a candle. On a tray were sweet butter, honey and an assortment of home-made jams. I was still in my Snoopy PJs and my hostess was still in her night clothes. From the kitchen radio we heard a soprano singing in Italian. And we talked. And we talked. And we talked. And we agreed that we never felt richer.