Cups of Coffee

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall;
Beneath the music from a further room

T.S. Eliot – The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

A single line from this rather long poem by T.S. Eliot always struck me as my life has been measured out in cups of coffee from my late teen years. And so the cups in which I serve myself coffee and sometimes tea have become more meaningful over the years.

Tonight it is a tea with cups from around the world. I want the New York cup as I am missing my daughter tonight but it is missing and so off to Paris I go. I remember bread and cheese and wine, a cold February when I was twenty on a weekend trip to Paris. So long ago.  I am recovering from some minor surgery, a little pain, and lots more to do. The tea is calming. The cup comforting.

Off to revision I go…