It's a bittersweet thought. The sheer pleasure of lazy Sunday mornings. So lazy that the morning seeps into the afternoon. Pajamas are suitable all-day attire. The paper or an unfinished book must be finished, with each page savored. There's always a pot of coffee or tea ready to be poured. And perhaps most importantly, breakfast can be served at any time of the day.
It's a bittersweet thought, that this feast of an omelet and a stack of homemade pancakes, this joy (like so many other sources of joy) is a luxury nowadays. It is rare, which makes its occurrence so sweet, like the appearance of the first strawberry blossoms on a long-given up plant or finding or the weekday cocktail before you even think about dinner.
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