Dear L.,
It is only when you stare straight down into a cup of coffee that you can see your own reflection. The angle at which you smell the blueberries and roses rising from the cup only shows you the white curvature of the ceramic in which you have imprisoned your drink. When you sip, it’s the ceiling fan or the skylight which is reflected by the geometries of a morning ritual mutual to many. But when you set the cup down on the table and really examine it, placing your face square to its rising steam, then you can see what everyone else is missing out on. And yet, in the most mocking fashion, disturb its peace–stir it from its rest only slightly–and the coffee will only share a winking, Brownian, utterly incomprehensible reflection of the outside world.
.bp