FRIED COFFEE

The weather, dry, sunny and cool has brought us spectacular displays of color. With fall comes a thirst for the cider my neighbors make on the creaky old press that’s been in their family for generations.

I’m not sure what it is about cider that captivates me, but I must indulge and I like to let it set out just long enough to work up that little zinginess.  Then I savor it like a rare French cognac.  There are other ciders, pear and cherry, but it’s been a long stretch since I’ve enjoyed either.  I need to do something about that.

I’ve banked a fire on the grate, and lean back in my overstuffed chair; feet up on the hassock, and watch the slate clouds slip by providing the perfect backdrop for the unfolding display on the other side of the window.  This is, for me, the most serene of the seasons.  Nevermind that it is a prelude for more ominous weather.  Winter has it’s own daunting beauty and we’ll deal with that later.

I wrote the above a bit over a month ago and somehow forgot about it.  The last of the leaves are gathering on the ground now.  The trees stand bare, prepared to defy winters’ worst.  I’ve finished the last of my cider and I, too, am ready for winter.   Spring is only 160 days or so off. The time will slip by like the lowering clouds bringing a new cycle when I can again anticipate my cider indulgence.

Life in New Hampshire is good.