Observations not Confessions


The first drink of the day, wether it is taken in the morning from the dregs of the night before or a more dignified evening sup amongst strangers in the pub, will always feel like the telling of a huge secret.
Pouring in inspiring a pouring out.
A relief , a grand release, shaking the spine and lifting the ears to relax the temples that straddle a furrowed brow.
A sandy wave of warmth that reminds you that your brain is indeed connected to your head, your head to your neck, your neck to your shoulder, shoulder to arm to elbow, elbow wrist, wrist finger, the tips of your fingers fluttering and all is connected to the heart.
That glowing organ, thawed and vibrating with that
drink of the day.

(This also applies, in a lesser extent, to cups of tea)


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