In the early rising of another day’s dawn,
Before the feel of sleep is quite gone from my mind,
I find enough of it to run water for coffee,
separate filters and measure the needed grind.
The first few drops steam the sides of the pot,
hot water carrying the rich darkness
drawn from ground beans into a new form
of meaning and being shaped into a simple gladness.
I turn then to the making of scones,
my own recipe of sorts, a gentle pilfering
of the key parts with a bit of tailoring—
a mix of whole wheat and all purpose,
spices shifted from pie to biscuit as it where,
dried cherries and chopped walnuts,
and almost enough shortening
finished out with a bit of some celebrity’s coconut oil.
Randa will rise soon, glad for fresh coffee
and the smell of cinnamon baking.
And though this is but a small making
of all that is love, devotion and the constant motions
Of both giving and receiving,
the demands of life and matters of the heart,
in such small makings as this,
love finds a pretty good start.