Coffee Break

The grass isn’t like any other when it’s a permafrost by the water but it’s where my fire is. It’s temporary warmth to go with how hard I’m bundled up against the ice needles of the wind; off in the distance are the mountains just past the pond and the sky that goes on after.

I’ll pour my coffee, smell the richness of its out-of-place breath, and know where I belong: far away and on my own without needing anything else.

Out the fire goes when the time go arrives.

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