February 15, 2002

It's quiet in the woods this morning. The temperature is back 
above zero and the winds have calmed. Even the dogs seem to 
appreciate the brief reprieve from this week's more traditional 
winter norms. I'm sitting in the cabin enjoying a black cup of 
cheap grade, pre-ground coffee. The wood is crackling in the stove 
and NPR is playing in the background. I've never noticed my 
coffee sitting so still. It is very dark, impossible to penetrate 
its depths (my brewing method is unabashedly backwoods), and 
slowly the unfiltered remnants settle to the bottom of my cup 
only to be tossed back into the pot in this never-ending cycle 
of my friday morning.