Breakfast

The warm aroma of coffee arouses my senses, I feel it, I taste it, I breathe deeply: it's time to get up. My eyes refuse to open, however, my nose is following the aroma of coffee creeping in through my window. I get up and look outside. In the little cafe on the other side of the street everything is ready, waiting for the customers to come.

The first one arrives, he takes a seat and waits patiently for his order to be taken. Absorbed in thought, he looks around. Small round tables, black with nickel-plated edges, chairs two by two so that four people can share one table. The chairs are brown rattan, with high backrests and soft cushions for comfort. Walls of glass welcome the light and reflect a road sign directing passers by to the city centre. The wide open doors invite some leisurely strollers to enter the cafe; the menu is arranged on the table, as are napkins and small sugar bowls, and it is up to you to decide: pass or enter, everything depends on what you want to do.

The man continues to wait for his coffee while breathing the morning's cool air. Tall trees with leafy green branches make a beautiful contrast to the shades of grey the surrounding houses provide, brightened by the two red cars parked in the still sleepy neighbourhood. The wind whispers softly as it slips through the leaves, and the rays of the sun are not yet too strong.

From my bedroom window I see the waiter carrying a tray, a white cup on a silver plate, a matching jar of milk and a spoon and, on a napkin, one of their tasty crispy croissants.

My appetite is aroused and realize I have to get dressed and make my own breakfast. I know I have to hurry but there should always be time for a cup of coffee in peace, without rushing.

Before I go downstairs I take one more look out of the window. The unknown man has finished his coffee; there is the bill on a tray and he has paid, probably given a tip to honour the friendly service so early in the morning and the excellent coffee. He smiles, satisfied, and leaves the cafe, hurrying along the alley while tiny drops of rain start to fall; a few drops only which do not irritate the other customers.

The morning is still young and I take the kettle from the shelve to brew my own coffee in my own kitchen.

© renate schiansky