The only true way of drinking espresso ;-)

Isn’t it wonderfull to smell the pure flavour of fresh roasted Espresso made from 100% arabica beans? Add a little carpet from Uzbekistan, and a japanese Art Deco cup, with delicate miniature paintings showing people celebrating the „Hanami“ festival, and you’ll turn a normal everyday action into the perfect postmodern and globalized springtime event!



Early spring



Early spring always remembers me to death – I know, it’s contradictions, maybe even ridiculous. Outside my walls, tiny bird’s are singing, the sunshine seem’s to be brighter and first warmer winds banish every speck of dust from the air. Everything looks as if an ancient Greek sculptor has just stopped his work and intentionally surrounded his artwork with hard shadowlines in order to give him an ultimate finishing touch.

Is it not precisely the bursting new life, burgeoning in every little corner, that clear cold light of a early March morning, that makes the losses of winter so visible, clear and aching? Here’s no colorful foliage, no dizzling fog, no glittering snow, that would graciously cover anymore every harm to a gentle forget.
They are just there, the dead mouse on the doormat, the withered Christmas flower arrangements and the slight, barely perceptible smell of rotting grass – who, believing in scientists, causes our spring feelings. They are there, bare, absolute and alone but no one percieves them next to the miracle of a freshly blossomed daffodil.

Dream of a tulip…

golden tulip

Sometimes, when spring is entering the land with first pale green buds of the white lilac streching against the gray and wetish sky, I look out of my office window searching the tangle of orange-red roofs for a smal brownish rectangle of grass. Nothing special, just a peace of dirty chestnut under a bare and scanty apple tree. I seek neither the bizarre branches pruned, nor the sound of the red tabby mackerel neighbor’s cat looking for a new bride. My eyes are wandering deeper, searching for olive-green tips. Pointed traps designed by a malevolent troll for invisible giants.

Two, three, warm sunny days, and the alleged pitfall will flowerish into a splenderous tulip.

She’ll stretch her snakelike leaves into the azure sky, most proud and arrogant. Always aware she is the one and only legitimate imperial descendant under all the vulgar mud-born springtime green. Wars and intrigues were fought out just for her, property and lifes were squandered thousandfold unscrupulously for her perishable favor. After what others of the thriving creatures whole eras were named for ?

No, nothing on this earth is like a tulip in the springtime!

I‚m smiling. Summer’s coming, and with him comes the heat, and with the heat, the delicate and aristocrat tulip will wither into an unsightly yellowish skeleton, leaving only a thick unsightly bulb deep in the ground under the voluptous fruiting apple tree…until the spring.