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There are forms that reflect emotions, senses, even other forms. They put them all together in order to pass on all the complexity of all the meanings just in one word, in one excitement, then put it in a chest pocket and always carry it with you. These forms must have an extraordinary sensitivity, how else could they say everything they could?

The fiddle and the violin have it. Just with one sound they can make you feel the scent of the forest shade, damp freshness of the meadow, fog and water, relaxed conversation on the porch of a summer house, and the mosquito buzzing, squeaking of the snow and of the winter forest, crisp mornings of Novembers, sticky cobweb on your face and the flashes of the autumn, rattle of the ocean, of green grass, cool and sour smell of the dark pub and its cheer, silence of tranquility. Fiddle is a crystal, water, rain and air.

Fire and soil are the elements of coffee. Coffee mixes up their scent, color, and emotion, shakes them up into a kaleidoscope of colors, into the stained glass of a temple that casts colorful an

d sensual shadows on its floor and columns. It echoes the organ rehearsal remarkably combining sensuality, playfulness, spirituality, purity, and independence that comes together. In other words, coffee is a quintessence of creation. It has the taste of earth and all its fruits, of the warmness of the sun, of the happiness of the sight of a rainbow after the rain, of the fly humming against the window, of rustling leaves rolling on the ground, of the talks of the workers who collect those coffee beans and roast them, and of the thoughts of mom in the morning kitchen.  Yes, its taste is the scent of thought. It is the shades of clouds running through the sky and hills.

Coffee takes all this and more. Feeling it in, you feel in the complexity of the meanings of the world of the moment of a coffee bean, of the moment of a cup, of imagination of anyone, who had ever had coffee, is having it right now – right this minute bringing a cup to their lips and smelling in the coffee scent, finding shelter in the sounds of jazz from the wet snow of the outside, on the summer evening porch, in a living room by the fire on Christmas morning, in the kitchen with a newspaper dropping coffee on the new shirt, or will ever have, make coffee, smell it together with all the complexity of the voices of the world.

March 2014

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