Coffee and Prayer

imageimageimageI’m bundled together, still shivering slightly from the droplets of cold water used for my ablution. I bury my hands into my sweaters pocket, head tucked down into its hood. I try to keep up with my father’s long, effortless strides as he makes his way towards the mosque, but I find myself rushing to keep up. We enter the lit building, so full of warmth and love, a second home for me. I cross the courtyard to cut through the building faster and look up to see the twinkling stars making their final departing gestures, before dawn breaks upon them, drowning them in its own splendor. The birds have not yet begun their morning songs, so for once, all is quiet except for the sound of my footsteps on the cement.

I open the door and a waft of warm air hugs me, fondling with my cold fingertips and caressing the sleepiness in my eye. The darkness of the prayer room is offset by the yellow light in the ceiling corner, casting its homely glow upon my little niche. Just enough to read the small print of my Mushaf. I slip out of my damp shoes, my feet embracing the rough carpet beneath them.

I raise my hands to join them and slowly I am folded into another world…

I lift my head from the carpet, it’s scent still smelling of the remnants of the ‘oud I had burned not too long ago.

I can hear the deep voices of the men mingling together against the whine of the kettle brewing fresh coffee. It’s musky aroma fills the air, and wafts through the curtain behind which I am seated.

After watchfully checking on its progress ever now and then, an uncle pours the steaming black liquid into a small cup and hands it to my dad. He takes it carefully and when he reaches the curtain, softly calls my name. He comes in behind me and gives me the cup, which I gratefully accept.

My hands wrap around its base, soaking in the warmth, and I hold the cup up under my nose, just to soak in more of the tantalising smell. The steam rises to my lips, wetting them ever so slightly, as they move silently. My heart is brimming with  His remembrance and my cup with coffee. I am content…:)

(This is a post that was inspired by my morning Fajr trips with my dad, but the pictures are from last fall…the leaves aren’t falling here yet 😉

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