I Love Fall
I love Fall. But to be honest, at this time of the morning it’s hard to remember exactly why. It’s a few minutes till seven and it’s still pitch-black outside. Against all odds I manage to pry myself free of the unseen forces that hold me in my bed. I stumble out of the bedroom and make my way through the maze that is our house. So help me, if I catch my hip on the corner of the upstairs banister one more time there will be no more upstairs banister. Down the stairs and a sharp U-turn through the dining room doorway. For the love of all that is righteous and holy, who left the chair out from the table? It’s lurking there in the shadows waiting to bring about my ultimate demise.
I finally manage to find the light switch on the kitchen wall and the room is immediately flooded in what seems like spotlights. You know the ones I’m talking about, right? The ones they use in those construction zones on the interstate. The ones that blind you for the next three days if you look directly at them. Yeah, somebody installed those in the kitchen light fixtures overnight. Which reminds me why I stumbled down here in the dark and impaled myself on the dining room chair. Because that was less painful than this.
Why am I here and what am I doing? Oh yeah…coffee! I stare blankly out the kitchen window while the water runs in the sink, waiting for the water to get hot. I’ve found that if I let the water run for 30 seconds and get hot before I put it in the teapot it will boil 45 seconds sooner. That is a net gain of 15 seconds prep time on my coffee. Booyah, Baby!
Okay, the water is on to boil. Next step—Beans. Today’s selection is a medium roast from Papua New Guinea roasted just this week. The smell alone stirs my senses as I open the bag. The eight second hum of the grinder tells the world it’s time to wake up and start another day. I pour the freshly ground gloriousness into the french press and turn my attention to step three.
I get my Black Rifle Coffee mug and prep it to receive the glorious substance that is moments away from completion. A little sugar, a little raw honey, and a few tablespoons of half-and-half. Yeah, I like my creamer. Would you listen to that, the sweet sound of steam being forced through a small hole signifying my water is at a boil.
I pour the steaming liquid over the freshly ground beans and a cloud of steam erupts from the french press. It carries with it the wonderful aroma of that which is to come. I sit and wait for the eternity that is the next four minutes. That time which is necessary to draw the essence of those beans forth into the very elixir of life. The moment has come. The time is now. I press the handle downward on the french press in a slow and steady motion. I pour the contents into the afore-mentioned mug and stir ever so gently.
As I ready myself for the first sip of this life-giving substance I notice that there is no longer a vacuous darkness outside the window. An eerie pre-dawn light has given shapes to the trees as a new day is dawning. I head out the front door with my mug of goodness attached to my right forefinger. I stand spellbound on the east end of the porch watching as the light begins to envelope the woods.
The whole of nature seems to collectively hold its breath waiting for the first rays of sunlight to crest over the horizon. Then, it does. And just like that the leaves in the woods shine with an array of reds, oranges, greens, and browns. It’s a picture no camera can capture. No artist can portray. Because it involves more than just seeing. It requires all your senses. It is about being.
I remember my coffee and bring it to my mouth. I pause and take a long, deep whiff of the aroma. I take a sip. Man, I love Fall!