It's cold and wet out there. Let's hunker down round a fire and have a warming cup of coffee.
This meditative video (be patient and get to the end - the man with the lovely hands starts to talk) is on an Australian blog I follow called Permapoesis. I must admit I haven't got to grips with it yet, but get the impression it's by a man who mixes artistic and permaculture philosophies with an Aboriginal way of relating to the land. He explains,
"Permapoesis is the portmanteau for permanent making, a term I've developed, incorporating permaculture principles and indigenous thinking, to define a practice of art that participates in what it represents; that is of its environment; that generates no waste"
None the wiser? No, me neither. However, I keep returning to his blog because I think its sensibilities echo the treasured experience of drinking coffee in my own garden. I struggle to articulate the peace felt in those few moments. It is not simply a matter of taking a break from the normal tasks of the day. It is more than that. There is a performative element to it - the right cup with the right amount of milk in it, two cushions placed on just the right end of the bench, perhaps a couple of lines written in the journal, an unspoken 'thank you' to the spirit of the garden when I go back indoors.
The dark and overlooked garden of a suburb of Manchester doesn't equate to the fierce light of an open Australian garden and yet both have the power to affect the people in them.
Having gone off on a flight of romantic fancy I feel I must bring us back to reality. There is no way I'm going to start drinking dandelion coffee, made with own hands or not. I remember my mum and dad drinking it in the 70s. Filthy stuff.
