Early morning,
on a walk to the bakery.
The bells on the shoppe door jingled and sang as we
escaped from the sunny heat
to the cool, sugary air.
We held her up to the displays;
row of confections all covered in pastels and powdered sugar and gold leaves.
She pointed to what she fancied:
One Blueberry Macaron, please.
(And a Madeleine, just  for good measure. To keep in her back pocket.)
A sweet little thing, indeed.