He slowly tipped the pot, gently pouring the midnight-black coffee into the waiting pool of creamer at the bottom of the mug. The initial mixing of the coffee with the milky-white creamer in the mug always fascinated him, the little eddies of black, white and creamy brown swirling together. It was like looking down on miniature whirlpools.

His morning coffee was his Saving Grace, the thing that allowed his brain to begin preparations for the day’s activities. All the Action Item lists, Post-It notes and daily reminders in the world couldn’t prepare him like this single cup of coffee. The first person to roast coffee beans, grind them up and add hot water is now nameless and faceless but they are akin to so many ancient gods and goddess of ages past. A person who wielded mystical and magical powers with that steaming cup of coffee.

After pouring, he sat back and admired it. The steam vapors gently rising from the tan-brown surface, the slight froth clinging to the mug’s sides. Perfection in every way.