I find the first coffee of the morning to be the most magical! It is like introducing that rich power to your tongue all over again, day after day!
Waking up in darkness, when the light just begins to seep across the horizon. Your senses are still mostly asleep, struggling to surface, and the only thought that manages to push through is: Coffee. Because you have mastered the percolator hundreds of times before, it's automatic to simply fill it up and click a button to start it off.
Whilst it brews, the aroma begins to rise, tugging your senses to wake more. It is gentle, but alluring and strong, and it is easy to allow your sight, sound, smell and touch to be coaxed into a space that is Awake.
After that, the promise of the taste begins to dance across your tongue: your tastebuds rise like hounds on alert, eagerly waiting, attentive and ready to lap at the taste.
The brewing stops, and you pour that black spirit into your favourite mug. It is dark, rich and strong. It is honest.
Raising it up to your lips, your pallet swoons in anticipation. Its warmth in the cool of the morning makes steam curl across the surface.
And then you sip. The aroma flows in and satisfies the waiting. It tastes like the earth - like cold, hard mornings. Fresh air and doused campfires. Late nights with friends, empty milk bottels and borrowed sugar. And the start of a new day.
There's nothing quite like your first of coffee.
What can be more Wanderful...?
How about a second cup?
Waking up in darkness, when the light just begins to seep across the horizon. Your senses are still mostly asleep, struggling to surface, and the only thought that manages to push through is: Coffee. Because you have mastered the percolator hundreds of times before, it's automatic to simply fill it up and click a button to start it off.
Whilst it brews, the aroma begins to rise, tugging your senses to wake more. It is gentle, but alluring and strong, and it is easy to allow your sight, sound, smell and touch to be coaxed into a space that is Awake.
After that, the promise of the taste begins to dance across your tongue: your tastebuds rise like hounds on alert, eagerly waiting, attentive and ready to lap at the taste.
The brewing stops, and you pour that black spirit into your favourite mug. It is dark, rich and strong. It is honest.
Raising it up to your lips, your pallet swoons in anticipation. Its warmth in the cool of the morning makes steam curl across the surface.
And then you sip. The aroma flows in and satisfies the waiting. It tastes like the earth - like cold, hard mornings. Fresh air and doused campfires. Late nights with friends, empty milk bottels and borrowed sugar. And the start of a new day.
There's nothing quite like your first of coffee.
What can be more Wanderful...?
How about a second cup?
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