A Good, Strong Cup

There is nothing quite look a good, strong cup of coffee in the morning. The warmth it adds to the sunshine still coming up over the tree line. The scent, for those who find it scintillating, a pick-me-up before even the very first satisfying sip. The taste of its bitter sweetness, no matter whether graced with honey, sugar, milk, or for the purists, nothing at all. The slight hiccups of percolation and the hypnotizing sound of the swirl of a spoon in the bottom of a porcelain mug. The deep pool of brown in varying shades of richness, reminiscent of its distant countries of origin. It is an experience of all senses.

The more I contemplate over a cup of coffee, the more I associate the ability to think and to dream, almost supernaturally, with the habit itself. Despite the caffeinated stupor I may sometimes experience in later hours following that first cup, I am always grateful for the respite it provides. It brings with it a necessary awareness. I find it easier to breathe, to gain perspective, and to rise above.

This morning, paired with one egg, over easy and two just-perfect pieces of bacon, my cup of coffee has helped me do just that. It has helped me rise to the occasion of meeting with my Maker in the quiet and stillness of a morning alone. It has helped me to think less often of the internet serviceman I’ve been waiting to come for nearly twelve hours, nine of which nearly sabotaged my yesterday. It has inspired me to dig into my creative stores and to practice an art which I so often neglect.

Strangely, in each cup are the echoes of a lifetime of conversations, times of communion, and relationships which add to the fullness of my life. A catalogue of brilliant, timeless memories have with them the mark of this taste, feel, sight, smell, and sound. These echoes remind and restore, causing me to hope for a lifetime of transcendent and full-sensory mornings over cups of coffee to come. And as I nurse the final drops of this morning's good, strong cup of coffee, I am thankful.