Rattle and Hum

It is still dark outside, and through the window comes the clatter of the wind skating across the roof with its freight of frozen twigs, the sound of small icicles falling on the deck, trees in the garden shaking their snow garments loose in a long slow dance. Light snow is falling, but the descending white stuff makes no sound, at least from in here. In the kitchen, there is the burble and hiss of the De'Longhi coffee machine, the rattle and hum of the old refrigerator in the corner.

By rights, there should be the sound of the toaster too, but it will be a while until I can even think about toast or waffles This is "bang up" weather for migraines, and I have awakened with one. I thought about doing prescription meds when I opened my eyes but have opted for a beaker of industrial strength espresso instead. Just holding it and breathing in its scent is comforting.

The stuff in my cup is as black as night and has the consistency of solid propellant rocket fuel. It could be dispatched with a fork. Steam rises in arty curls from the inky lagoon, and a splendid creamy froth floats on the surface. The fragrance of the freshly ground Logdriver Espresso from Bridgehead is ambrosial and so are the glossy beans in their canister. Headache or no, I consider drawing pictures in the foam.

Why is it my thoughts always turn to Paris when the weather is like this? With beaker in hand, I look through my collection of Cavallini rubber stamps, vintage postcards, stickers and notebooks - the little ones with maps of France, fleurs-de-lis, French postage stamps, the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre museum, Notre-Dame Cathedral or the Eiffel Tower gracing their covers.

When the migraine has expired in my espresso sea, I will curl up in a corner and read something in French, perhaps the latest Fred Vargas. Yup, I can do this.