Morning Coffee

When the sun is on its way to work for the day but not yet clocked in,
Streaks of pink and orange lingering across an awakening sky,
The crisp coolness of possibility punctuated 
By the chit-chit of the neighbor’s sprinklers joining the birds’ alacrity,
I find few things more delightful than making coffee. 

The beans sliding into the grinder like coins into a vending machine,
The grumbling, rumbling, grinding,
Water popcorning to life in the kettle,
Then the studious craft of a meticulous pour, 
And the vapor ascending like happy ghosts with their joyful message,
Flooding the whole house with a warm hug,
Filling the hearty mug—

Ah, roasted java morning magic,
You beautiful black-brown brew,
Cup of joe and joy,
Pool of earthy pleasure,
Bean, to powder, to liquid spark of life
French press, Aero press, espresso elixir of earthen expression
Drip-dripping, foaming, steaming 
Threshold ritual of the day, igniting the body’s cells as 
They jump, alert to life, to living,
Warming every capillary as it filters 
To the soul.

Photo by tabitha turner on Unsplash