I sat this morning as the sun arose, drinking my coffee in the near silence of the morning. I had not yet drawn the curtains. So the faint glow of the coming day diffused over the outlines of the furniture.
Two tall windows. Side by side. The regular rolling rush of water outside. The smell of coffee in the air.
Now became then. The Berkshires became Broadway. The time of day, the same. The windows, the same. The scent of coffee, the same.
A direct line drawn between 2023 and 1993. Different cat, different apartment, but the same moment.
Such a small leap from the rolling water of the brook beneath my window to the faint hum of the early morning buses of the MTA idling in my mind; in my memory.
I could smell the ghosts within the past, mingling with the aroma of the beans, freshly brewed. My silent ritual of the early day kept silent to not disturb their sleep in the next room.
In such a moment, the past is more present and more dear.
I inhale, embracing the long gone in a sense less overrun in the day to day. And, as I brew my coffee, with care and intention, I know that I will once again bring forth all that was, back into being.