One had a brioche with butter. It lolled on the plate like a baked mushroom, brown and crispy, sweet to the touch, soft to the taste.
The other had an apple Danish. Glazed in sugar, laced with flour, filled with apple syrup, its sticky-sweet sensation printed a sugary outline on the white ceramic.
The last tore into a hazelnut croissant. Dusted with sugar and flour, the crumbled nut topping gave the pastry a slight crunch as frost particles sprinkled the table.
They each had a pink mug, filled with hot chocolate, topped with cocoa powder and stirred with long silver spoons.
In their unique identities there was unity,
Separate, yet joined by the sweet liquor of a warm drink, the cord they formed grew taut with love, prayer and hope; for after all
A cord of three strands is not easily broken.