There are nights when the anticipation of my morning coffee keeps me awake. The thought of the stillness of the morning sleeping house. The kettle making its special, not quite boiling noise. Scooping four heaping tablespoons into the French press. The Divine aroma. Holding a warm, nay, hot hand made mug that I made myself. It keeps a mind moving, anticipating. Last night was one of those nights. I almost got out of bed at midnight just to make coffee. It didn't seem prudent, though. So I stayed in bed and tried to think of something else. It wasn't easy.
The reality is I usually only get five or six sips before someone is up needing something. But those five or six sips are mine, all mine, all alone and quiet and quite delightful.
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