Thank you for being there to start my days in those hours before the sun decides to creep lighting the eastern horizon in a pink-orange glow. While it’s true, that you are set the night before so that all I need do is plug-in the percolator that brings you rich and dark and full to greet me upon my return from a run. That first hot sip slides down, warming my belly and bringing my brain into being once again.
You are there at every point in my day, even though sometimes I must replace water and grounds and wait for you to brew again. When I cannot get words to come, your bold rich aroma sings to me from across the room and settles me as I pour yet another cup. When the house moves with the furry of the winds, yet your slightly bitter taste stills the shivers. And in those meetings that inevitably come with students or mentors or other teachers, you keep me grounded.
Even the creamy frosted chocolate cake demands your presence and is enhanced by
alternate sips with forkfuls of cocoa sweet confection. And if, per chance, I manage to get away, I do so enjoy you with that salted caramel mocha. Oh, a match found in paradise I’m sure. As I close this letter to you, my dear Java, I say ode to Joe, as those cowboys of old must have done, gathered around the chuckwagon before and after a long day on the trail.