As a child, I often wondered why the queen of hearts spent the summer’s day making tarts and why the knave of hearts stole them and got beaten for that. “Are they like little pies? Are they that good? Are they sweet or sour or somewhere in between?” I would adore these little colorful fruit tarts lined up like little cups filled with jewels, at the bakery in the grocery store. The bright red strawberries, the juicy and plump blueberries and those little pieces of kiwi fruit that would peek from beneath trying to get up on top and compete with the reds and blues, and not to miss the peaches and oranges. “How pretty! Do they even eat it?” I would think to myself.
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