The Secret of Gossamer Mornings


There’s a hum in the air, a suspension of sound, as if we are wrapped in fine silk. On the stubby grass, the shadow-line of the patio roof is a jagged fissure edged with dark and bright green blades. The scent of ornamental pink pepper wafts in the cool morning breeze.

I breathe and consciously set aside the weight of life for the gossamer morning. A cup of Guatemala in a handmade mug leaves a faint circle on the dust-covered wooden table as I sip and ponder.

This morning, there is sun, there is shade, and there is a daughter dwarfed by my red sun-hat. It promises to be a good day.

–Anaheim, CA / mid-morning / Coffea Roasterie, SD

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