Steam rises from black coffee in a midnight-blue cup swirling with Art Nouveau peacock whorls of sky blue, green and apricot. The cup sits on a thin porcelain dessert plate rimmed with Icanthus leaves.
A peach rests on the plate. A Saturn peach perfect in its peachy rosiness, one bite missing --symbolizing, if this were a Dutch painting, the fleetingness of pleasure. Its nub of a stem hides in the peach folds like a shrunken old man mocking the ripeness of youth.
I love this peach, this coffee, this moment. A summer morning moment suspended in air, like my fingers over the keyboard. I am writing.
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2 comments:
yummy
what a perfect moment of stillness and life.
Sister
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