It’s About the Coffee
I will admit it,
It may be an addiction.
Addictions are so effortless to deny.
But this one,
I can comfortably admit.
It’s about coffee.
It developed in a romantic fashion.
My mother use to prepare Nescafe, instant, mixed with boiling water in a cup.
She stirs in milk and a spoonful of sugar.
Sweet, warm comfort to a child in a chaotic household.
I didn’t need instant Nescafe anymore, leaving my parents’ household at 18 or more.
Thought I outgrew it.
But I gave into the temptation of Yuban dry roasted coffee in a brown tin can,
the kind my roommate use to drink in the morning. I could see why:
Sipping it by the cup, prepared through a single serving cone lined with a filter, water poured through.
It was a moment of meditation,
to sit with one’s thoughts.
An enhancement to reading, writing, homework
a savored moment. Of harmony. Stillness.
There is no turning back.
Coffee veins developed under my skin, keeping an open portal.
Organic French Roast, whole beans, discovered in a co-op, downtown Cotati, once on an excursion.
Before you know it, it was
Discoveries of Coffee Houses; The Petaluma Coffee Company and Tea, a favorite.
So many aromas, I have inhaled them all!
Rooster Roaster 11: Peru, Sumatra, Mexico.
“A damn good cup of coffee!”
Like a precession, there come others.
“The Apple Box”, the hole in the wall coffee house.
More modernly, Starbucks, Peet’s (though not like the classics).
Philz Coffee, gourmet.
#Cafe Nervosa/ Café Nirvana
I don’t care to hear the news of my long-time lover being “bad for your health”,
decades later, “there are some benefits”.
All’s I know is that it is intrinsic in the morning.
It is my Mr. Bright Side.