The Secret Garden Cafe

Let me paint you a picture. I am enjoying coffee in my garden, what I have come to call The Secret Garden Cafe. It is a remarkable place, a haven, a refuge. Considering how I live, what I own and do not own, my garden is a masterpiece.
Sunlight is streaming in and held precariously by the sheltering fence. Raindrops from a thunderstorm still hang like dripping honey on every leaf and bloom. The fragrance of an old fashioned rose bouquet rises, mixing with the rain-fresh air and the distinct aroma of Geranium leaves. I see a jumble of flower colors and various shades of greenery. The textures and play of leaves, blooms and decorations are endless and entertaining.
In my hand I have my favorite cup, my only cup and the first slow sips of strong, hot and sweet coffee remind me of the fertility of distant lands; earthy coffee, molasses-rich brown sugar and smooth cream. As I sip, I observe; listen to the early morning bird chatter and smell the various fragrances. My senses are filling without demanding anything of me. It is quiet in my mind.