Coffee

Imagine, if you will, an intimate café scene but within the kitchen of a modern house. Outside, it is raining as unperturbed sheep continue to graze. French doors open onto a newly laid patio area, where the most comfortable of outdoor sofas makes for an ideal lounge, awaiting the relationship that emerges between comfort and man.

 

Inside, in the busy kitchen, the barista awaits a request but alludes to surprise, for as always, the procurement of curiosity is in the element of not knowing.

 

She sits at the dark, wooden table and watches through the window. Spotting the hungry woodpecker, a smile relaxes her tired face, from her eyes to her mouth, from her shoulders to her hips. Her senses are stimulated by the smell of fresh coffee and as he delivers it to her, he offers her a knowing smile before placing it down. She nods in acknowledgement and whispers her gratitude.

 

Music in the background; a tune she has not heard before. A jazzy folk song, her favourite. Her foot begins to lightly tap as she reaches for the handle of her 1920’s coffee cup, which sits upon a matching saucer.

 

Black, no sugar.

 

She sips. Her palate reveres. He joins her. He sits. They talk about the day. They talk about the weather. She nibbles on her wafer.

 

And they are happy to have shared in that moment.

 

Thank you, coffee.

 

© 2023. Mrs WH