Täius

It is only once so often that one succeeds in brewing that on perfect cup of coffee. The kind that can only come to life by a mad accedent. On a still, quiet morning when you have nothing on your mind. When you just take the powder and the water but pay no attention what so ever to what you are doing with them. And let the good angels of chance to take over for you without even realizing that you are doing so. The kind that stikes through you as if it was elecricity the moment you take your first zip. The perfect cup.
Perfect for it can not be replicated. Not now, not ever. For you have no idea in the world how it was born. So all that is left for you now is to enjoy it while you can. As long as it lasts. On your kitchen floor. In the quiet still of a December morning. With the pale moon still overlooking its snowy reign. And the warm playful fire of dry wood reflecting in your eyes.