Paying Ready Attention

It’s a touch past six in the morning, in the dog day weekend between Christmas and New Year.   It’s the time of year when the only things you can do are ones that are unimportant, but seem to get done none the less. The roads are almost empty, but perversely, I have been stationary for at least five minutes.   Road works and diversions cause delays whenever and wherever they occur.   I drum my fingers on the wheel and reach to take a sip of tea.   I’ve been looking at the back of the same car for a while.   It’s clear that it (and its owner) have been dragged into the same diversion as me.   I can see through the back window, past a faded newspaper, to where the driver sits.   Even from behind his body language is clear.   Steam drifts from the open slot of my travel mug, an unfamiliar but welcome companion in the chill of the morning. Steam also seems to be coming from the ears of my fellow traveller.   The driver’s side back panel of the car in front has faded down to a ligh

Camberwell. The doors open to let me out, and the smell of coffee in.   Not long ago, self-opening door were only found in Star Trek, but now they are commonplace.   On hot days the few metres from inside to outside are marked by a steep jump in temperature; on cold days – or as cold as cold gets in Melbourne – the shock is never as great.   In all but the heat of the summer, the smell of coffee is a greater challenge to walking than the temperature.   The fine blend being perfectly toasted just over the road temps me stop and sample.   The coffee shop’s logo has 1961 embedded in it, which may hint at funkiness, but only succeeds in making me feel old.   The air is heavy with tortured aromatics, pushed from the beans by hot and tumbled air.   Arabica? Robusta? Organic?   (Inorganic?) Single source or blended? I’m sure some people could tell; but to me, its just coffee.   Two or three strides later the rail line I will follow home comes into view.   Parallel lines tha