Coffee Cup

The indigo ceramic is smooth. I can run my finger over the surface where the coffee has dripped and is now running down the side, leaving a thin brown line. The coffee is warm in my hands.

 

Absorbing the heat,

Caffeine running through my blood,

I watch the steam rise.

 

The taste of the bitter coffee and sweet vanilla cream awakens my senses, awakens my mind. The stream rises and swirls from the lip of the cup, until it vanishes in the air, like the smoke that escapes the chimney on a cold winter night.

 

The coffee tastes like wisdom, reminding me of the satisfaction after finishing a mentally challenging novel. I sit on the porch, sipping my coffee, admiring my mother’s garden, now full of weeds. The sky above me is gray in the early dawn, the birds sing to each other, waking each other, and the neighbors, with their songs.

 

Today, I reflect. I let my mind wander to a world of beauty and complete bliss. This is a place of desire. Where my thoughts drift, that is what I truly want in this world of gray, and chimneys, and coffee. Coffee is why I am here, on the porch. The birds woke me, so I could enjoy my coffee while gazing at the flowers.

 

Blue bells and daisies,

Lilac that begins to wilt,

Neglected, and dead.

 

I take another sip. Cool, disappointed. The heat has disappeared. And so I pour the remains of the cold coffee and the cream that has settled at the bottom of the blue cup, into the grass, and go back inside, where reality will find me once again.

Reviews

[Scott Metro]

A nice sit on the porch...I liked it.
Well done...some nice images...


Scott