coffee: lover, magic maker, pickle jar opener

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

It’s early. The sort of early without light. The sort of early that allows me to question whether the sun is meant to rise soon — an understandable wonder in my foggy state. It’s the sort of early that nudges me out of bed so I can wrap up in my tattered robe and quietly make my way to the kitchen.

The ritual begins. Heat the water. Grind the beans. Watch the drips. Fill the mug.