I like a good, strong, hot…cup of coffee. The stronger the better, I say. And black. Nothing shall taint my coffee.

I can recall, over the years, certain moments when I had really great coffee, or the moment was made more memorable because the coffee was so warranted, at that time.

One moment I remember vividly is a day when I worked on a farm, picking vegetables, and it was chilly out. The day was gray, almost about to storm. Windy. We went back to the farmstand with the morning’s pick. And every day, at this time, we would have coffee, made fresh.

That particular morning I remember holding the hot mug in my hand, smelling the coffee before I took a sip, wind whipping through the open doorway. The light was beautiful that fell against the floor boards. And it was so quiet, except for that wind.

It was a moment of peace, with a cup of coffee. And I will remember this moment always. Because I was happy to have this quiet time, when nothing was expected of me. Nothing but the goal of warming myself with a warm beverage. And the rest of the day still lay ahead.

It was also a moment I wish I had on film, in a photo. But I never took a picture.

I drink coffee every day, but it’s always a rushed affair, and at work, which doesn’t lend itself to moments of thought and inactivity. So I treasure the times I can really enjoy coffee.

I always enjoy coffee when we’re in Maine, in the woods, when the house is quiet, and I’m the first one up. I drink coffee out of an old round squat mug, watching the water rush by outside, the sunlight casting a glow on the snow, the trees, the now smoldering and black fire pit.

I wish I could bottle this feeling of quiet simplicity, complacent understanding that the world can rush by and we might miss these small moments. I want everyone to have these moments, or stop long enough to see them, feel them. Knowing that such things exist make me happy.