She invited me in. While I sat in front of the fire, fumbling toward satori as I let my mind vanish in the perfect randomness of the flames, she bustled about in the kitchen. A dim corner of my mind, ignored, heard the rattle of metal on metal as she retrieved a tiny pot from its niche deep within a cupboard.
The last log had shriveled into hot white coals by the time she came into the den with two thimbles of strong, sweet coffee. I’d never tasted anything so fine, I told her. It’s Turkish coffee, she told me.
In silence, listening to the hiss and crackle of wood turning to ash and vapor, we drank.