Murder Passes the Buck

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Murder Passes the Buck Page 16

by Deb Baker

Early morning is my favorite time of the day. I throw back the covers in the dark gray haze between night and day, fix my first cup of coffee, and sit at the kitchen table listening to the birds beginning to stir and sing out to each other. I watch out over the east field with eager anticipation. With a blaze of orange, the sun bursts over the rim of the field, rays dancing across the golden rye. I sip my strong rich coffee and smile at the thought of another day’s possibilities.

  STOVE-TOP COFFEE

 

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