Well, I didn’t do the sniffing and trekking part.
Instead, I thanked my French press for its faithfulness to our morning ritual, changing cold water and inert grounds into steaming ambrosia with exotic names: Sumatran, Italian, Kona blend, Colombian. Standing at the door sans notebook, pen or camera, sipping that first cup of waking up, transfixed I watched ice crystals gathered along every branch of the naked birch tree dance in celebration of this new day.