One of my favorite parts of the morning is my morning coffee ritual.

I start off with freshly roasted beans from Vermont Coffee Company, specifically their Dark Roast. Their Dark Roast has always been a favorite of mine as it offers a rich, roasted, dark, almost burnt chocolatey intensity but it has a pleasant aroma and taste that isn't harsh as sometimes can be typical with some of the other dark roast coffees I have tried.

When I first open the air tight canister of beans, it's magical. You know they are fresh when they have a nice sheen on them. This is a greasy bean house. You know it's good when they're greasy. After that initial silent moment just after opening the canister, I have a quick reflection on what's about to happen. I gently pour the beans, offering themselves up to me when it's their time, into my coffee grinder. If my wife happens to be around when I'm doing this I shout out a nonchalant "Noise!" and hit the button. Suddenly the beans are dancing with each other, becoming a finer version of their former self.

After the joyous chaos of bean grinding is complete I fill the kettle with water and get my French press ready for our little morning party. Up to the mark and it's time to heat up the bath.

Amidst the heating of the water, it's time to measure out the heaping scoops. With my measuring spoon, I dive into the freshly ground goodness, filling my French press with just enough of the black gold dust.

Thirty-two ounces of water and six heaping spoonfuls is all it takes.  No more.  No less.  Perfection...

​Just coming off its boil, the water is ready to be poured, but I must wait. Thirty seconds to be exact. Slowly, in small circles I gently pour the hot water over the ground coffee beans, letting them breath as I go. Little bubbles come to the surface as I pour the scalding water, making sure to envelope every last bit of coffee in a warm embrace, up to the fill mark on my press. It's therapeutic watching something like this. The beans are going from solid form to liquid form. It's a satisfying feeling, taking a solid little bean and transforming it into something that gives off pure joy in the form of warmth, comfort and energy.

With a stir and the setting of a timer, I wait...

​I get slight hints of burnt chocolate and raspberry in the air while I wait for my coffee to brew, pondering what I'm going to accomplish today. I gather my mug and half 'n half awaiting the moment where I can push the plunger down into the dark abyss, separating liquid from solid, completing the metamorphosis from one thing to another. Bean to brew. Cold to warm. Asleep to awake. Half to whole. From apart to together again. The cycle continues...

...and then I pour my first mug.

Here is a short, little snippet from today's ​Morning Pages.

I'm constantly writing and sometimes little snippets like this appear and I oftentimes don't know where they belong.  I've struggled with finding ways to document them all and to keep track of them all...until now!  

​I've had this blog for what feels like ages now and honestly haven't done a lot to keep it going.  Now I'll be contributing to this more frequently.  I'd love to have you along for the ride.  Post your comments below.  I'd love to hear from you.

Peace,
​Brian

They grin.
They fly.
They scream.
They cry.
They whimper.
They grieve.
They sing.
They breath.

They go back and fix
The words they misspell
They sing to their heavens
For those that fell

They bring all their worries
To their churches with awe
They whisper to God
Their Buddha, their Krishna

They take all their worries
to the doctors with a sneeze
They lay down their swords
and fall to their knees

Who are they you ask
It's you, it's me
It's everyone here
It's this flower, this tree
It's the bee buzzing by
With pollen on her knees
The whisper in the wind
And the truth we all see

They grin.
They fly.
They scream.
They cry.
They whimper.
They grieve.
They sing.
They breath.

They sit down to pray
To shadow the ways
Those prior have taken
An oath and to say
Their intentions are near
All around 'em they sit
Stood up in the clear
To accept is it fit?

We grin.
We fly.
We scream.
We cry.
We whimper.
We grieve.
We sing.
We breath.
We grin.
We fly.
We scream.
We cry.
We whimper.
We grieve.
We sing.
We breath.

Not sure if I'm remembering
It's been a while since
Can almost see the words exactly
If I give my eyes a squint
I was sitting in the sunlight
Out on an old park bench
I recall it on a t-shirt
All gray and faded and holy

It took a moment for eyes to focus
On what the words all meant
Could see them all so clearly now
No guessing what they said
My mind can see the picture now
Guitars and words and notes
It's not inside the wooden bones
Or from the neck of ebony tones
They come from somewhere else you see
The music's from up there in me

I'm sure now I'm remembering
It's been a while still
Can see the words exactly
Sitting on the window sill
Standing in the moonlight waiting
Binging on a phrase
I still remember that t-shirt
All gray and holy and faded

The ethos holds all the words
That could ever be
It holds the phrases, pickin' licks
For all our eyes to see
If your eyes are held-a-shut
Won't see what flies right by
The moment'll pass right by your face
Now you're just lookin' at the sky

It took a moment for eyes to focus
On what the words all meant
Could see them all so clearly now
No guessing what they said
My mind can see the picture now
Guitars and words and notes
It's not inside the wooden bones
Or from the neck of ebony tones
They come from somewhere else you see
The music's from up there in me

Here is song #2 from the 2020 RPM Challenge.  That's 10 songs or 35 minutes of original material written and recorded during the month of February.  The key here is to not wait for inspiration.  If you wait for it, it'll never come...or rarely anyways.  This has been a fun experience and at this point I have three songs either finished or nearly finished.  I'd say it's been a success already.

Below you can listen to everything I've posted to the site thus far.  Enjoy.

The tapping like the beat of a failing heart slows to a halt.  
"Next Stop Westport!"
Jolting to a halt head dizzy from the shaking writing shaking stopping shaking breaking the silence along the tracks and then it's gone.
"Next Stop South Norwalk!"
Clicks and pops under feet.  Giant trestles bend and give just a little under the weight.
"Next Stop Rowayton!"
New passengers every stop and old ones getting off.  His accent different from the one before.  A couple this time.  Questions answers questions thoughts as the door between the cars opens with a sudden racket of the rails.
"Next Stop Darien!"
Financial chatter dinner talk reminiscing friendly walks internal dialogue drones on.  The sun it draws closer to the water as lights come on in windows passing far and alarm bells ring when the doors shut closed.
"Next Stop Noroton Heights!"
Criss-crossing streets with headlights shining crossing under bridges below.  Above the trees the daylight slows blowing clouds turning in for the night.
"Next Stop Stamford!"
Reflections in the windows bring scenes to life from both sides at once.  Silhouettes dancing from right to left in the waning sky.  The fading signs of graffiti look like dancing cave drawings in this light, dancing along our way to the city.
"Next Stop Greenwich!"
Incandescent lights light driveways overlooking train tracks, bridges, over passes under trestles.
"What time do we get into the city?"
Startled from my awakened slumber.
"Next Stop Harlem onto Grand Central"