all things black and beautiful

I love coffee. The subtle rush of the first espresso of the day. The lingering over a mocha in a cafe. Watching the world watching you with your cappucino moustache pretending to be an intellectual, but being destracted by the street theatre until you catch your own chocolate powdered reflection staring back at you. This collage is called "Facing Mocha". It came to be after a conversation with a friend of mine. We observed that we were both wearing green t-shirts and I asked him if he had made the pilgrimage to Mecca, after which the pilgrim may wear the green turban. He looked puzzled. Where? Mecca, you know, your holy city. Then a revelation, "Ah, Mocha!" he said with a beaming smile. And ever since I have thought of that when a look into my black brew. My own little ritual, facing mocha. I went to Brasil to see where the coffee grows. A friend of mine took me to his family farm. Behind the mango and avocado trees, I saw the coffee growing in lines undulating over the soft hills. As I stood there feeling the richness of life all around, a withered old man in a battered straw hat and tatty old poncho came up to me and without saying anything, reached out, plucked a coffee cherry and gave it to me. My pilgrimage was complete. I had taken my coffee communion. I still carry the bean as a holy relic.