Slow Days in the Alps
We drank cold apple juice and warm milk in the sun, as if we were children and adults at once—too aware of the moment, and yet already nostalgic for it. A plate of Kaiserschmarrn arrived at the table, still steaming, dusted in powdered sugar like the mountaintops above us. We dipped each bite into warm apple compote and tart berry jam, letting the sweetness linger like a half-remembered dream.