It was a quiet morning, a crisp morning like many others at the cusp of September, with a slight chill that hinted at the waning summer and the slow-approaching damp of fall. Outside my kitchen window, orange dawn touched the roofs and treetops, and caused a family of seagulls to shriek vigorously at the approaching day, which startled a calico abruptly from licking itself before being chased off by the neighbour’s three-legged terrier.
Inside, in half-shadow, I stood vigil over the inert form of my beloved companion. My attempt to resuscitate had been futile. It was dead — passed beyond the veil of darkness into the endless light of the hereafter. It would forevermore remain silent and nevermore would coffee would issue from it’s warm carafe.
For seven years, we had lived in symbiosis. I would feed it coffee grounds and give it water and electricity, and in return it gifted me with the rich nectar of the Colombian mountains. It asked so little of me, and yet gave so much.
Perhaps, in the bitter clarity of hindsight, I might have demanded too much. Did I hasten its demise with too many late nights and early mornings? Had I only been more nurturing, would it still be with me today to share the pleasure of seeing another dawn? These thoughts troubled me — gnawed at me — as I stared at the now-silent form. No more would it greet me with its steamy, burbling voice and a friendly “12:00” flashing on its face.
And yet, from every end, there is a new beginning. Today I am joined by a new face — smaller, younger, and hissing with the excitement of youth. From here on, we’ll explore our new relationship, and discover new dawns and entirely different families of shrieking seagulls. From the end of an old friendship starts a new one, and its name is Black and Decker SmartBrew. Only $9.95 at Canadian Tire. Not a bad deal, really.
It’s official. I now have a copy of 