Starting Fluid

caffe-americano

Snow falls silently outside

And the still of the morning

Is pleasantly preserved.

I stare into the endless

Swirling eddies of steam

Wafting up from the hot

Mahogany, life-giving

Ambrosia before me.

A sip, and I am lost in the

burnished, heady brew.

The starter spins — nothing.

I take another glorious sip.

More spinning–nothing.

There’s enough light now

To see the deer feeder

Out the back window;

I’m glad it’s empty again.

One more sip now, and —

Vrooooom!

Now where did I put that

Bag of feed for the deer?

3 thoughts on “Starting Fluid

  1. I had to chuckle reading this poem as I, too, share this benign addiction. You are truly what Iโ€™d call a โ€˜Word Wizardโ€™ having so easily transported me to share those moments with you there. If I may say so, your beard also dresses you for the part. ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ™๐Ÿป๐Ÿค—

    Like

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