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Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Edited my morning coffee photos and relishing how everyone has a moment embedded in my memory of a reflection, containing a passage of joy, sadness, laughter, haste, etc... I was never much of a coffee drinker till as of late. But as my days get fuller, the ritual of that little morning solitude either prepared at home or in a cafe feels right. And I can't really call it a "coffee" at least not in the american sense, mon "petit cafe" would be more accurate. That robust liquid that wraps the tongue with just a bit of gentle bitter harmoniously balanced with a touch of steamed milk. The taste of minted mate would also suffice in its gourd sipped from a bombilla as I often do on a rainy sunday or the steeped leaves of verveine that accompany me at bedtime. But for now that little african elixir will do as I rest a moment before I start my day.









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