“…Dinginess, insanity, immensity, and use
Are the lozenge projected from the square of these views.”
– Edwin Denby
Where does morning coffee take you? Not breakfast coffee nor brunch coffee. I mean Morning Coffee with the sun still low on the horizon. You’ve left the warmth of slumber and the first breeze of your day brushes the skin cold. The coffee steam is promising comfort.
sip. notes of rhubarb and honey.
Once, there was an era when I grabbed coffee whenever, wherever, however, with whomever and drained it with no regard for taste or pleasure, only for the sake of mental prowess. The need for a caffeine high: any creative junkie can divulge the details. Unfortunately 1, 3, 7-trimethylxanthine no long hold magic powers for me. Beware of over consumption.
pour another cup.
Yet coffee beauty far exceeds its chemical reaction with the corporeal. It’s the entirety of the process, the small details unnoticed. The melody of the beans being ground by hand, the shrill scream of the kettle boiling, watching the two combine in a cafetière, the soft hush of hot liquid swirling into ceramic, the aroma filling your nostrils, and the steam fogging up your glasses. It allows your senses to drink in the flavour and your mind to dream. Of what?
The Manhattan issue of ACNE Paper sits on the table. I’ve read it twice so I thumb through it and the images make me wonder back. To a small cafe on Thompson where I bought two black coffees and the golden October leaves danced across a crisp blue sky. Morning coffee is a state of regard and emotion. It can lead to the cafes of Paris or the music of NYC, waking to a city that never sleeps. Or perhaps to loves lost and gained, of wines drunk, dinner parties, future trips and road trips, and cold February mornings? Breathing in the cold air of the Japanese alps, witnessing the raw brutality of the Corsican coastline, lunching in Provence, or light-flooded breakfasts in Tel Aviv.
cooling, notes change to those of melon and hard candy
The sound of rusting trees suddenly float up to the thirteenth floor, breaking my thoughts. Outside my windows, Berlin lilts into autumn. Meaning soft greys with a dash of blue where the sky meets city, a propensity to turn nostalgic. Your thoughts become lustred with autumn. Your brain flexes – or is that actually the caffeine? – out of summer lulls. For some, brisk and fresh with new wool, scarves, and popped collars on coats. For others, softer and mellow with shearling, tweeds, and blankets.
Either way, it’s a new pace of life. Let’s have a coffee.