Coffee, Croissants, Cork

I am starting to see a pattern, a routine,

a glimpse into what this year may be like:

It’s smelling like fresh croissants from the bakery every morning-

the lid cracked in the back seat as I drive under oak canopies

with the smell of flaky beautiful butter wafting around.

It’s going to taste like fresh brewed coffee

(because everyone is a connoisseur)

steaming between my hands, filling the

white porcelain cup with swirling goodness.

This year feels like fresh cut wood, and the

possibilities of cork stoppers in every shape and size

in tan and honey and mottled browns.

This year will smell like sawdust on the chairs

on the floor, on my pants and shoes

it will become ideas and sketches drawn

on oak cherry maple pine tables

grown and fashioned in another life.

This year will fly like a yellow bike

zipping through traffic

taking the long way to see that sight of

downtown lit by streetlights and sunlight,

and I think, my, what a beautiful

city to live and love in.


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