Pour Over

Fresh coffee. Water boiled and poured over grounds roasted and dark. I asked for the blend from Burundi, for I'm hearkening back to simpler times and yearning for the rich, red earth of Africa.

We have an enduring dream of opening our own coffee shop, he and I. There will be caffeinated beans from Jinja and tins of organic loose leaf tea. We'll combine all the elements that are our favourites from all the hip places. The one in Pittsburgh. The other in Dublin.

Clean white lines and earthy brown tones.

It will be the best place, we say, dreaming.

I've spent much of this week at our local shop. Sipping cups of Siam tea and mugs of Burundi's best.

I've written a week's worth of letters and started a new book.

I bought my very first copy of Kinfolk (an old issue) and carefully flip through the pages, wading through my own dreams (and his) that seem so similar to the lived lives of others.

I resigned from my position on Monday, and left the office straight away. Everyone who knows the truth agrees that it was the right thing to do, and it is good to have such encouragement for one such as I; I am so very afraid of being called a quitter.

Now, I am calmly taking my time.

Drinking and dreaming about coffee and tea. Painting the imperfect walls and applying for new positions.

Today, a phone call with best friend, and she remarks that husband and I have been married for ten months--almost a year. There have been so many fresh starts this past year.

So many stretching moments of muted understanding and wide-eyed wonders.

Somehow, in light of it all, this professional fresh start is not at all terrifying.

I have faith in HIS provision, in time.

For now, we shall savor this in-between space.

And dream a little about coffee culture over cups of freshly brewed pourover.