Sunday, November 19, 2017

Saturday Morning

coffee beans

I grind the beans, enjoying the aroma and the physicality of the hand grinder. The espresso trickles out, dark and rich. The milk steams noisily.

I turn on the stereo. (Does anyone even call it that anymore?) I put on Ages Past, a group of local kids, guitar and percussion. It’s the right rhythms and melodies to accompany my mood this morning. Their only album is short but the repetition is a comforting familiarity.

I pick up a couple of books I’m currently slowly savoring, Stephen Legault’s Earth and Sky about the Rocky Mountain Front, and Trevor Herriot and Branimir Gjetvaj’s new Islands of Grass. They are full of wonderful photographs, mostly landscapes, which I love but seldom photograph myself, finding them difficult to capture well.

I sip the coffee and enjoy the complex flavors. Interesting how we enjoy coffee and wine, both complex acquired tastes.

Outside in the cold and snow the nuthatches are out and about, creeping along the tree trunk and branches and taking advantage of the bird feeder. A red headed house finch also stops by, brightening the day.

Both books are saddening. Despite the wonders of nature and landscape that they depict, they are also about how it’s disappearing at the hands of humans. It's tempting to be sad. I hold no illusions - humans will trash this planet, the only question is how quickly. Hell, the coffee I'm enjoying is a part of that destruction - forest cut down to grow it, oil used to transport it. But take that train of thought to its logical conclusion and the best thing you could do for the planet is to leave it. I turn my thoughts away and go back to enjoying the coffee and the books.

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