Cinnamon Sticks Among the Steam: A Gentleman's Guide to the Dry-Wet Season

I woke up decently early this morning and made breakfast for myself and a person who makes me laugh.  By the time they arrived to eat it, the kitchen had all of the smells I love:  sauteed onions, potatoes, salt, pepper, black beans, garlic, dark coffee and the tart smell of citrus.

It feels good to be getting things in order for the fall. I've been stuffing my nervousness into the back of my sock drawer and, instead,  putting on a starched and pinstriped button down, thick deep olive tie wear, fitted jacket, and tight mustard corduroys.  A black hanky flowers out of my back pocket as a coded invitation to those who can read it, and a functional middle finger to the vanilla world I must glide through during the day.

For this occasion of fall organization, I chose a matte metal tie clip that is actually a mechanical pencil.  I will need one these days, without doubt. So many things these summer-dirt-deepening-to-autumn-mud days to be jotted, reported, measured. I am making room for what I need and what I love. Strangely, inspiration and direction is following.

In the meantime, I have been having a steamy affair with cinnamon.  I have been adding it on top of steel cut oats, steeping teas heavy with its peppered spice, and tapping sprinkles of it into my coffee.  It has a calming effect.  Warming. For now I am satisfied with circulation it pulls through my veins, and the scented compliment it provides to my wardrobe.




Be well; be warm; be absolutely unapologetic for the love and light you build with your hands and company,

k.


P.S. Neil Gaiman has one of the most conspiratorial and true reading voices that I have heard from an author reading their own work.  If you get the chance sometime this week, make yourself something warm to drink and settle down for a few stories, which may be found and heard, here.  I promise you, you will not be disappointed.

(photo: Tobias Rocks tumblr)