Where do you relax with your coffee?

She sat by the window, a mug in her hand,
With socks full of cats and a daydreaming plan.
The drizzle tapped rhythms on glass with a sigh,
While steam curled like whispers that danced to the sky.
Her coffee was bold, with a hint of delight
It promised adventure, then stole half her night.

She’d planned to write poems or maybe knit hats,
But instead she just giggled and chatted with cats.
A squirrel made faces from under the tree,
She toasted him gently: “One lump or three?”
The spoon did a jig in her cinnamon swirl,
As the mug told a joke that made her hair curl.

She pondered the cosmos, the meaning of toast,
Why mugs feel like hugs when you need them the most.
So here she remains, in her caffeinated nook,
A girl with a grin and a half-written book.
The world may be wild, but her window’s a stage
Where coffee and whimsy grow wiser with age.