Every morning must start this way. The deep, smoky smell of coffee beans scooped into the grinder, the loud whirl of the motor grinding them for brewing. Cold water and coffee grounds producing that dark cup of liquid. I need to sit, quietly, with my first cup of coffee in the morning. It's a time of savoring and gearing up for the day. The early mornings before I get the kids up to school are my favorite. In the fall or spring, when I pull on a sweater and enjoy my moments on the sun porch. In the winter, when I sit under a blanket on the couch and curl my fingers around the hot mug. Summer, seeking out a few minutes of relative cool.
I've cut down on my java drinking. Most days I only have one (not precisely small) cup when I rise. I used to drink at least half a pot every day, maybe more. But it's that first cup in the morning I could never, ever give up, nor do I ever wish to.
The weekly farmer's market is open again here in northern New York, and I am so very, very happy about that. I made it this morning before the rain and came back with three bags loaded with my goodies. It's been very cool and overcast here this week. I'm actually wearing a sweatshirt right now. I'm not complaining about that, though.
The kids are perfectly happy to eat all their fruit fresh with no additions, no sugar, nothing. But I did get all that rhubarb, so I think a cobbler is in store for us.
No comments:
Post a Comment