When the sun rises and beams red on the mountains
I pull the covers up and roll on my stomach groaning.
The sound of water percolating over Brown and squatty, peanut-shaped beans
Has me peeking from under my pillow.
The dark, woodsy smell makes me salivate like a Saint Bernard.
The thought of wrapping my palm around my favorite blue mug from an art studio in Barbados
hot with the dark liquid
Born only from the mixture of South American cocoa and water pulls my feet down the stairs.
Savoring, I breathe in the deep smell.
The mountains rise to greet me through the bay window;
Rabbits bound through my garden flowers and smile;
Sunlight sparkles on the pergola & Japanese lanterns;
Raising my mug, I toast the cocoa and the day.
written at the Crestone Mountain Zen Center
Writing Retreat 2010