the galaxy on my countertop

I am making an americano at home. I run my finger along the edge of the portafilter, angling my index finger like a snowplow in an attempt to sweep the grounds into the basket. A clump of them falls to the counter.

Not wanting any stray grounds to be destined for the trash, I try to snowplow them carefully toward me. But instead they make contact with a small pool of water on my counter-top that I did not know was there.

Instantly they swirl into the pool like a galaxy of stars being flung into orbit.

Since having kids, I have learned how to spot messes and (sometimes) clean them up rapidly. So naturally, my reflexive brain kicks in, and before I know it, I have a rag in hand, which was conveniently to my left, and I wipe it away.

Later, I feel sad. I had seen the microcosm of our galaxy, and I wiped it away like it was a mess. I could have kept looking.