The First of Three Morning Coffees

Groggy thoughts coalese into milky daydreams as my eyes ignore the forest of air ducts and electrical wiring. The battles I fight with finance, the weeks of servitude, are kept at bay with a song and a dertermination to keep an innocent boy wrapped in his blanket of comfort. Metallic air, bitterly assaulting my senses as I exit the sweet smell of Autumn and enter this realm of miguided circuitry, can not overcome me and bring me to surrender, to an unconscious death. The first of three morning coffees strives to excite my blood, still sluggish from the too-early braying of my cell phone alarm, permanently set to an ungodly 5:00 AM. The stubble on my chin is a day older, a day longer; again I snoozed too long to shave, a modern mountain man longing to exit the city and find his way back up the verdent slopes, beckoning with the promise of home and peace. Random thoughts like scattered music notes mark the sheet of scrap paper crinkled next to my wallet in my back pocket, things to do, songs to write, bills to pay, places to visit, all too much for the few hours at night I can call my own before sleep again overtakes me; a weekly reminder of the race life creates between modern obligations and the eternal thoughts of a man longing to make the world his sanctuary. The ink will fade and the pulp will grow musty, and still lines remain uncrossed. But as I consider putting my pen down and walking to the break room to secure my second cup of coffee for the day, I remind myself it's about the journey, not the destination. I do what I have to do and keep a private promise to my integrity; there is a song to be sung, if only in my heart.