Coffee on a Frigid Morning

The cold bites down on us with teeth like razors.

I sit in my boyfriend’s kitchen cradling a hot cup of coffee, and I look out the window above the sink toward the rooftops in their neat rows along the neighboring streets. The steam from the coffee tickles my chin and bears to my nose the rich, nutty scent of the drink.

The rooftops steam too. Their chimneys billow with white clouds, casting great gulps of vapor into the razor cold air. The shingles glisten and gleam with millions of diamond sparkles. Any hint of moisture— instantly crystalized.

I shiver and blow on my coffee. The steam frolics about the cup in warm delight.