I like to make coffee on the porch.
It smells so fragrant.
You know, a coffee tree blooms with thirty thousand flowers at once.
In twenty-four hours, they all, well, almost all, turn into fruits.
It is worth looking at these flowers for hours
and not asking how many of them will actually ripen
and come to you in fragrant grains.
You'll grind them in the old grinder.
Grandmother's one.
You'll be intoxicated by the smell.
It would be a meditation on ground coffee,
which might gradually turn into brewing it in the Turkish way:
on golden sand, which for some reason never turn black.
Incense spreads to the garden.
Thus begins the meditation on cats,
white men and gnomes,
who are hiding under the Japanese burdock,
behind the bushes of meringue or jasmine.
The day passes.
The sun is flying.
The water is flowing in a stream on both sides of your garden.
You accept this happy day not as a reward, but as a gift of nature,
the gift of Universe,
the gift of either Absolute or the Gods
who created us from the genetic material of this planet and others.
They might possibly add some coffee beans too.
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12.56 26/05 2021
© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2021