August mornings in the desert can be cool on the skin. Temperatures hover just below the winter thermostat, and the air is pregnant with moisture dew cannot relieve. It is on mornings like this when hot coffee tastes best.
As I revisit this post a year later, and with some severe ridicule from my teenage daughter, it is clear how this post can be read as “creepy”… especially how I describe the air being “pregnant with moisture”. I see it. I get it.
The picture doesn’t help much showing a smug satisfaction and near-giddy delight rarely shared in public.
Sometimes, words best suited to describe a moment carry with them unintended meanings. “Pregnant” is one of those words, as is “moisture”. (I acknowledge the common aversion to the latter of the two.)
That being said, I think the three sentences written best describe a moment in my life when the coffee was exceptional, and worth noting.
The only intended to be conveyed is how this was a very good cup of coffee. I mean… really good.