Coffee, Leather and an Old Book.

Steam rises from the dark green mug that is sits atop the worn novel.
Underneath the book is an end table, scratched and worn, with its endless waves of darkly accented grain, it performs a balancing act, with three of the legs slightly longer than the fourth.

A pile of books is sprawled in a heap on the lower shelf.  No rhyme or reason, no order, different sizes and different thickness, tossed aside as if someone was eagerly anticipating the next.  Bits and pieces of their titles peek from the pile, hinting at worlds far beyond this realm.  They lay haunted, used and pilfered they almost weep from their stained and tattered covers.

The rich smell of the coffee fills the room and dances with the aged smell of  leather furniture and sandalwood.  It has a calming effect.  Gold stitching chases itself around the arms of the easy chair ending at a small tear that has been repaired with white thread.

All is silent save for the pitter patter of rain drops on the roof.  The windows share the darkness of the clouds and drops of rain cling to them, sliding down, ever so slowly,  you can almost hear them crying to be let in, to be saved from the monster inside the storm.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.  The storm, its anger spent, is slowly moving on.

He reaches for the mug, feels its warmth inside his cupped fingers and smiles as he hits the button on the recliner.  His feet rise into the air and a sigh of relief breaks the silence.  It feels so good to get off those feet.

He looks at the book, it is one chosen from the heaps of unorganized chaos at the thrift store.  The title alone captures his imagination and as he picks it up he falls into its graces.

Now the smell of coffee, leather and sandalwood has a new partner...aged book.

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In case you can't tell it's raining.  I did pick up a new book on Sunday.  I started reading it today.  A great day for reading.
Later,
-Bushman