The Coffee

The coffee, to speak of, talk of the coffee... that ever used source of inspiration, that way to start whatever. I don't think I should, I mean, fall like everyone before in that cliche, there must be some kind of purpose that compels everyone else, everyone now to stay out of this same path all. No, not the coffee, a tea perhaps?

Here I am sipping from and old mug enjoying an old tune in the radio. The weather is warm and the leaves are gliding from the trees. You are guessing Autumn, good guess. a joyous time in men as it is on earth.

Some old french music filled the room, scattered notes from a piano made me turn inside, make a pause and sip the tea.

Track change, a diversion, merry tunes. A heartbeat, my own? The rythm in everything is easily appreciated in solitude, banned from fostering dreams. This music again and it starts.