A cold and sleepy Sunday afternoon in Chicago. Running errands with mundane to-dos crackling on my mind. I took a break for sitting and settling with an afternoon stop at Bridgeport Coffee. Instead of a pot of herbal tea I got a cappuccino.
From the brown mug to the thick head of foam --> perfection. In the moments before ordering did I recognize a cappuccino-shaped hole inside? Is satisfaction having that unique lack filled? Should it be filled perfectly, exactly full or leave a sliver that I seal with satisfied recognition of my own need?
I can appreciate the shadow dancing on the wall.
