Coeur d'Coeurs

There's a mansion by the sea.

It's a large, rambling mansion with many nooks and crannies.
It's in the late Victorian style, although new parts are coming in everyday.
In the main hall way, underneath the chandelier, past the grand staircase, there's a library.
All four walls are covered with books.
Well worn and beloved books.
The fire crackles and pops cheerily,
with an occasional spark drifting upwards into the chimney.
The furnishing is oak,
rich and ancient oak,
and it smells like warm chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream
and the heat from the fire feels like warm sunshine - the kind that seeps into your bones and stays with you.
There are a couple of armchairs here. High-backed and deep. And the footstool is just the right height
so that your back never tires
and the arm rest? - level so that your neck need not complain.
There's hot chocolate too. Two cups. And witty banter and "good lucks!"

"Well Lewis says this..."

"...What a nice tie you're wearing!"

"Williams thinks...",

"Aquinas would disagree"

"I admit the Third Concerto is more complex and masculine, but surely you must love the Second Concerto more - it's Rach 2!"

"Romance is not dead!"

"Beauty is Objective!"

"Dante!!!"

Laughter-of course- is quite happy to be here.

Bach has brought his Cello and sings to us through the gramophone.

Friendship's here too.

The deep, nutritious kind (eat your greens!) that you can take with you on long trips from home and bring out from your box of treasures and hold against the light when you're feeling rather down.
Or rather, the kind that seeps into your bones and warms you through and through and doesn't leave when the sun goes gloriously into the West.
There are some tears over spilled milk,
but who wouldn't sniffle over the chance at a perfectly blended latte?
And so it's two cups of hot chocolate for us, here, and black forest cake.

Dark Chocolate isn't so bitter when you get to share it.