In the early morning hours, when I am still asleep, not yet half dead in my morning stupor, I dream. This morning I dreamed of a dark, steaming liquid emitting a tart, yet savory, pungent odor. My lips and tongue make sympathetic movements trying to capture this liquid life, cautiously testing its molten temperature. My throat opens up to accept the caramel colored rain of heaven…
I wake with a start. It is dark. The dog shuffles, knowing I am awake, and wanting out for the morning duties. It was a dream. No coffee is gurgly madly away to cresendo, no sigh of stream as the last drop of blessed water in to the pot, changing forever its destiny, no longer the mundane drip, drop of H2O. (This drop has been chosen to fulfill its highest order. No greater integrity or glory to be attained. The crowning achievement of water, to be coffee, transformed like the proverbial worm to butterfly)
Snatched from my incubus, so clear and real, to be thrown cold and harsh into the streets of reality.
There is no coffee.
I leap to my feet, whistle for the dog, and stride down the hallway, confident in my new found realization. There ARE things in this life we can change. I can change.
I will make the coffee, nay the dream, come true!