Baking sheets . . . I snatched ’em out of an empty tin container, once filled with cinnamon muffins. Why did I snag ’em? I didn’t quite know at the time – I just knew they were so ethereal, so delicately beautiful. I couldn’t let them be snuffed just yet.
It wasn’t until I snapped these photos that I resolved the question.
Floating, and swaying, swooshing around.
They smell like cinnamon-ed flour, and feel like sashaying trees. A perfect balance between matte-n-glossy, lustrous ‘n fine.
The flick of each corner, sharp and crisp, digressing into the remnants of a delicately cumbrous treat.
baking sheets . . . who’d’a thunk?