"Morning Java" Descriptive Essay
Morning Java
Startled by my alarm, I stretch my arm out from under the covers and search frantically in the dark to put an end to the obnoxious sound. I feel around for my lamp and switch it on, keeping my position until my eyes adjust to the light. Before I ever get out of bed, I’m already overwhelmed thinking of my many tasks for the day. When motivation is scarce, there is only one thought that brings me out of my cozy, warm bed and to my feet. Waiting to be made is a fresh, boosting cup of morning coffee.
Confronting the seemingly arctic air, I slide my feet into fuzzy, pink slippers and head for the kitchen. I make a quick stop at the thermostat, crank up the heat, then b-line it to the stainless steel coffee pot that used to belong to my Grandmother. Sitting next to the pot is a bright red Folgers can. Holding it up close to my face, I crack open the lid and am instantly delighted with the robust scent of ground coffee beans. Possibly being the only “me time” of the entire day, the quietness of the early morning combined with the delicious aroma of coffee brewing is greatly treasured. Reaching into the cabinet containing the coffee mugs, I instinctively push through them until my favorite one is spotted. Dulled out yellow with a small chip on the handle, it displays markings from years of the dishwasher’s wear and tear. I pour the steamy drink into the old cup and sip cautiously. No sugar or cream diluting the flavor, I savor the dark coffee and smile with approval.
Trusty mug in hand, I sit down to catch a quick glimpse of the morning news. Its warmth cushions the chill I get from the blizzard forecast flashing across the screen. Cold, weary, and fatigued, I sip as fast as I can, urging the rich, caffeinated liquid to hit me as soon as possible. I hear my two year old, sick with the flu, stirring around in his crib. I know it won’t be long from now until he is protesting and ultimately waking my other children. With medicine to be
Startled by my alarm, I stretch my arm out from under the covers and search frantically in the dark to put an end to the obnoxious sound. I feel around for my lamp and switch it on, keeping my position until my eyes adjust to the light. Before I ever get out of bed, I’m already overwhelmed thinking of my many tasks for the day. When motivation is scarce, there is only one thought that brings me out of my cozy, warm bed and to my feet. Waiting to be made is a fresh, boosting cup of morning coffee.
Confronting the seemingly arctic air, I slide my feet into fuzzy, pink slippers and head for the kitchen. I make a quick stop at the thermostat, crank up the heat, then b-line it to the stainless steel coffee pot that used to belong to my Grandmother. Sitting next to the pot is a bright red Folgers can. Holding it up close to my face, I crack open the lid and am instantly delighted with the robust scent of ground coffee beans. Possibly being the only “me time” of the entire day, the quietness of the early morning combined with the delicious aroma of coffee brewing is greatly treasured. Reaching into the cabinet containing the coffee mugs, I instinctively push through them until my favorite one is spotted. Dulled out yellow with a small chip on the handle, it displays markings from years of the dishwasher’s wear and tear. I pour the steamy drink into the old cup and sip cautiously. No sugar or cream diluting the flavor, I savor the dark coffee and smile with approval.
Trusty mug in hand, I sit down to catch a quick glimpse of the morning news. Its warmth cushions the chill I get from the blizzard forecast flashing across the screen. Cold, weary, and fatigued, I sip as fast as I can, urging the rich, caffeinated liquid to hit me as soon as possible. I hear my two year old, sick with the flu, stirring around in his crib. I know it won’t be long from now until he is protesting and ultimately waking my other children. With medicine to be