Drinking coffee in strange places.

Sunday morning coffee seems to be the theme. Our eyes rise with the happy ball in the sky, and with weak muscles we pull the curtains to confirm it’s identity. Once acquainted, Matthew reaches all of two feet to set the kettles bum on fire. A brief sniff of propane and our noses perk up as their internal alarm starts to beep. No reason to be horizontal? We sure don’t need one. Back into the bed of folded pie layers, our bodies like a warm peach filling

The sun starts to bounce through different corners of curtains trying to find our vulnerable corneas, yet fails. Fixated on each others morning features, the silence holds so much. A soft maple glaze coats early eyes, skin soft and supple with creases from the hug of a neighbouring pillow. Seconds turn into minutes as we savour the warmth of it all. 

Our only reason to break eye contact and unfold the limb pretzel begins and abrupt squeal. The chemistry begins as the scalding water meets a layer of ground espresso. Together they dance through the French press cylinder and release an aroma of serotonin. Our mouths, which haven’t seen much exercise this morning, are finally showing off their stretches.

We are directed to the waiting room one last time while the bean water takes form. Reaching for the nearest writing utensil, our cloudy morning thoughts dissolve onto paper. It has now been an hour, and we have shared only a few mhms and crooked smiles. The sun and I however, we’ve spoken of the moon, the stars and the album of yesterday. 

No timer needed, we know when it’s just right. The cauldron pours its contents into small mugs releasing a delightful, steamy hue to the windows.

Something as simple as the sound of coffee falling with gravity sure does tickle the senses. 

Once the last drop has been consumed, and the corners of our mouths hold leftovers saved for a near future tongue interaction, we surrender to the sun. The glow fills the canvas and our skin drinks up what’s left. 

It’s hard not to smile writing about our mornings on the road. How lucky to start each day in pure elation. 

– Stacey Tourout