Deep, dark chocolate tones and a bold flavor...

Sunday Morning Ritual: I've been reading poems about coffee this morning while I sip my own and listen to ferocious winds rip through the tall pines of the Taconic mountains. The chimes rattle closely, and in the distance the last snows of the northern faces stubbornly hold onto their cold. I can see and hear this from my morning perch, and I sip slowly, letting the warmth of awareness in...

Here's a poem I found that I particularly like:

---

[Over a Cup of Coffee]

BY STEPHEN DOBYNS

Over a cup of coffee or sitting on a park bench or
walking the dog, he would recall some incident
from his youth—nothing significant—climbing a tree
in his backyard, waiting in left field for a batter's
swing, sitting in a parked car with a girl whose face
he no longer remembered, his hand on her breast
and his body electric; memories to look at with
curiosity, the harmless behavior of a stranger, with
nothing to regret or elicit particular joy. And
although he had no sense of being on a journey,
such memories made him realize how far he had
traveled, which, in turn, made him ask how he
would look back on the person he was now, this
person who seemed so substantial. These images, it
was like looking at a book of old photographs,
recognizing a forehead, the narrow chin, and
perhaps recalling the story of an older second
cousin, how he had left long ago to try his luck in
Argentina or Australia. And he saw that he was
becoming like such a person, that the day might
arrive when he would look back on his present self
as on a distant relative who had drifted off into
uncharted lands.