From the darkness . . .
comes a sudden hit of sweetness to my tongue, fruit of another hemisphere, it is the first taste of the day–a slice of pineapple–reminding me that our world is large;
a sip of coffee, its specific origins unknown but surely from the mountains of Central or South America, graced with almond milk, frothed and shaped into a heart, it flows from cup to lips, bringing a smile across the miles, and my smile widens thinking of the miles in kilometers;
one slice, two, now three, it’s a banana that arrived here on a large ship from a place near those coffee plants weeks ago, green and tart when it arrived in port, now it is soft and subtly sweet;
more slices of plum, strawberry, orange, and apple, more sips of froth and elixir, they all add to my morning of muffin and quiche (the only two things from this breakfast that came from somewhere nearby, and omg how that quiche shared her wealth of butter and blue cheese!) and with taste after taste the Painted Lady and I have remembered that we are friends.
It is nice to awaken to these kinds of friends after the darkness of night, and I have many: a songbird outside my window, a river flowing nearby, a walk along the empty streets of a town that still sleeps, and then the “Open” sign of this coffee house calling me from that darkness into the light.
I am smiling, but in a somber way, still thinking about the Good Friday service at church last night and the message to all of us that there has been a death and a burial. The tomb is still occupied, filled with darkness and the body of a murder victim.
We can smile, however, knowing that in a few hours there will be a resurrection and that already it has happened, changing the course of time from nonsense into a life of light.
Here’s to a friend in the morning.
Here’s to light from the darkness.
Here’s to the nonsense of time making sense.
Here’s to both waiting it out, and enjoying it along the way.