In October of last year, I gave up caffeine. First, I dropped my overall coffee consumption to first thing in the morning. Then I edged down what percentage caffeinated beans I used. Finally, no coffee.
There were a variety of reasons, but good health was the most important one. Addiction is never a good thing, so I like to clear myself of it periodically.
But one Friday night, I slept. And slept. Woke up on Saturday, having given Rip Van Winkle a run for his money.
Ten hours. Three hours longer than my usual seven. The last two hours were in and out, mixed with dreams and sighs, comforted in the cool October by a thick blanket. My dreams hit all categories, including this bliss of sipping again that delicious drink, a cappuccino.
I looked around, and saw that the sky was damp with a gray reminder that summer ended. Before last night's rain, the trees in front of my place were a brilliant yellow, singing their last song of summer's glory. Now, this morning, they lay in a crumpled carpet upon the grass, solemnly giving way to a God they never knew.
My dream, though, need not end with waking to such an overcast day. I cranked up my machine, and ground my beans, frothed my milk, and pulled two shots of espresso into what you see here.
