Pondering: waiting.
I don’t have thoughts, still brewing;
coffee’s not ready to drink.
I wait for the water to filter through the grounds (I was lazy and didn’t go French), mug ready with allotted cream and sugar.
When it’s ready, I pour, listening to the fresh hot coffee cascading into clean ceramic. Better than the rain. I take a sip. I burn my tongue. Now wait more.
Why?
I measured perfectly for my solo cup and I still can’t drink.
My friends say when I least expect it, the coffee
will find me, perfect drinking temperature.
Mary's One Hundred 