An Enso In My Cup

There is darkness beyond the kitchen window, the sound of wind and spatter of rain falling on the weathered wood of the deck.  Inside the kitchen, there's the burble of the coffee maker, the hum of the old yellow refrigerator in the corner.

By rights, there should be the smell of toast too, but it will be an hour or so before my gnarly metabolism can handle the mere idea of toast.  September is a "bang up" month for migraines, and I have awakened with a whopper - thought about doing meds for it when I opened my eyes, but opted for an earthenware beaker of industrial strength espresso instead.  The stuff in my cup looks to be about the same organic viscosity as solid rocket fuel and it would please any lover of Paris, steam rising in arty curls from its surface and a splendid darker froth ringing the shores of the caffeine pond. Seen from above, the frothy edges look like an enso.

Why is it my thoughts always turn to Paris in the autumn, especially when it is raining?  I find myself looking through my collection of Cavallini notebooks, the small ones with maps of France, French stamps or the Eiffel tower gracing their covers.

Rain or no, it will be a grand day, and a perfect day for vanquishing ye old email issues for good and all.  When the mail "stuff" is working again, and my migraine has drowned in the espresso, I shall curl up in a corner and read one of the lovely books recently sent by my mermaid sister, Kim Antieau, mermaid tales of course.

Thank you, thank you, sister Kim!