Good morning, fellow posters and friends:
Please use your imagination to complete this little tale. Several endings came to me while drinking my morning cup of coffee on the patio.
The early morning breeze gently rumpled the glistening crowns of new spring growth on the stately black oaks in my forested glen. Hands wrapped tightly around my chipped but still serviceable old coffee mug, I tried to gather a little warmth for my bare hands and arms. While savoring the last mouthful of robust French roast, I sat shivering on a rusty patio glider and watched the remnants of tattered shreds of cloud scud away. Another aborted rain storm; nothing short of a miracle will end this four-year California drought. No March miracle in the works . . .
This state of meteorological affairs only heightened my personal sense of sadness -- despair? -- that this oh so "good-to-the-last-drop" cuppa would be my last.
You, dear reader, may wonder why . . .