Brewing Coffee

I like my coffee dark--the color of black dirt, dark as bald eagle feathers. Several scoops of ground coffee beans go into a single cup. But I notice this--while the steaming water is dripping from its marriage with the grounds it appears pale and tea-like. Every time I think it isn't going to be dark enough for my taste, but yet every time when it all comes together in the end it is just right. How is it possible that those pale drips become a dark cup? It hit me this morning--how the simple act of brewing coffee is akin to trust, to holding to what we envision, to our dreams. Dreams very rarely happen overnight--they are the accumulation of our daily actions and intent. And every good intent no matter how small will build, will become the eventual. Just because you can't see it right now doesn't mean that it isn't happening. We just need to trust that these small things will become the larger thing we are working toward. We just have to hold out. And the opposite is true--think how this applies to pollution. Picture a factory polluting a nearby stream--they may have you believe that their pollutants are minuscule but in reality they accumulate over time. They do harm. Their toxins touch every living thing in those waters. So today I'm thinking this--no matter how small. No matter how small we must be positive.