Self-Portrait

Drinking my morning coffee and doing nothing but enjoy its taste and its heady aroma while looking over my garden or out of whatever hotel window I might be in, in what ever part of the world, is one of the great delights of my everyday. Sometimes the waking mind has the ability to see things uncluttered and anew, sometimes to be delighted, other times to be slightly shocked at the very act of that seeing anew. Gazing over the rooftops of Florence one spring morning, cup in hand, I suddenly looked to the side and caught this more than startling reflection of myself, as if catching a glimpse of someone I did not know suddenly in the room and looking back at me. A self-portrait taken I do believe, in the same spirit as the poem itself was written.