Coffee with Clark

"Coffee with Clark," 5 x 7 watercolor, 300 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

Morning means coffee in our household, and it has as long as I can remember, even as a child growing up. The folks were coffee drinkers.
It's no accident that this blog is so named.  I once had a newspaper column by the name and a short radio program on what is now KUCO-FM.
My reputation at work was always making strong black coffee, and having a coffee cup in my hand, no matter the time of day, either in journalism or professing...or today, in painting. I'd joke that I wouldn't need to be embalmed...my veins would be full of caffeine.
I've written about it many times on this blog. Just search "coffee." The first was from 10 years ago, on this link: "The First Time I Tasted Coffee."

When I think of coffee, my soul drifts away to the mountains, especially in New Mexico, or in camping out, when you roll out of the sleeping bag early in a chilly morning, and start a pot of coffee on the old Coleman stove.
Ah, the smell of coffee, sizzling bacon, and of the mountain forests and the sight of mountain peaks on the horizon...especially the Manzanos.
So here is today's watercolor, and my old metal coffee pot that inspired it, along with a coffee cup, (what else?) that we gave away long ago as a subscription promotion.

A magic walk of Thanksgiving

Walking to the magic garden in November.

I went for a walk in a magic garden today, with a friend from long ago who lives there.
Every time I go there, I find him healthy and happy, and we have long talks.
Even though it seems I do most, if not all of the talking, he always seems to give me new perspectives and ideas and inspiration.
Today, I found him cooking breakfast on a Coleman stove, bacon sizzling in an iron skillet, coffee perking away, hot oatmeal ready to serve. 
Nearby a brook gurgled and I could see the movement of trout in the shadows. 
Ponderosa pine, fir and blackjack bordered most of the garden, which was alive with sunflowers, bumblebees buzzing, hummingbirds  and meadowlarks.
In the distance, blue mountains, dusted with snow, rose in the crisp autumn air, but the morning sun warmed the garden where we sat down to chat.
Hawks soared overhead, as grey clouds began changing the blue sky.
We sat on camp stools by the little morning campfire, savoring the smell of woodsmoke, bacon and coffee.
Sipping that coffee, I told him that tomorrow was Thanskgiving Day, and while it is a family day, it is also a day of memories for many, and of loneliness for others. The "holidays" are like that--a two sided coin...one side warm with comfort and joy, and the other cold to the touch.
Then he just looked around his magic garden, and I followed his gaze, drinking it in like another sip of coffee.
He didn't utter a word, but I know what he said.
Every day is a day of thanksgiving.