Finding Home

She woke up feeling sore and exhausted. She needed a fix if she wanted to keep going.

Trouble was, the place looked a mess. She hoisted herself up from the makeshift bed. How was she to find her gear?

There. That box smelled promising . She tore it open. Inhaled the aroma. She filled the kettle, ground enough beans for a strong coffee. The smell filled the room. The smell of home. She took a sip. Yes, she could do this. She’d unpack, get this mess under control.

Next time she moved, though, she’d label her most important box ‘coffee paraphernalia’.


17 thoughts on “Finding Home

  1. I personally have never been a coffee drinker, but my husband alwasy has his morning cup (or pot) and my parents did too when I was growing up, so the aroma of coffee reminds me of home. Nicely written.

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    1. Thank you 🙂
      I think my love for coffee goes back to childhood memories, as well. First thing my mother did in the morning was to make coffee, so it’s a smell I’ve always associated with home. Now, of course, it’s the first thing I do…

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