Friday Ramble - Tea and Redemption

The world outside is still dark, and the village merely a collection of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. The day is cold and damp, and a light rain is falling on the garden. My kitchen is a place of shadows in the early morning light, and I lean against the counter, bones sinews and joints protesting the weather. Summer seems like just a lovely dream from long ago and very far away.

How does one banish inclement conditions at such times? Looking for a fine hot potion to start the day and drown my doldrums, I rattle around in the larder, opening canister after canister and sniffing them appreciatively. French roast? Earl Grey? Constant Comment? Northern Delights Cloudberry (Arpiqutik) or Crowberry (Paurngaqutik)? Rooibos? Ginseng? Lapsang Souchong? Perhaps a simple Orange Pekoe?

The last container is away in the back of the tea cupboard, and it holds dried chrysanthemum buds, rustling gently.  When I open it, the dry golden fragrance of last summer wafts out, and for a moment, I hear tinkling bells and exotic musics. Ah, this is the tisane (liang cha or 凉茶) we will quaff on this murky morning.

The name "chrysanthemum" derives from the ancient Greek word χρυσός, chrysos meaning gold and anthemon meaning flower. No doubt about it, I will definitely be planting more golden "stuff" in the garden this year. Brewed into tea, chrysanthemum flowers light up a bleak morning wonderfully.

Waiting for the kettle to whistle, I do a little whistling of my own and glance at the long shadows falling across a favorite mug and a little bowl of loose tea on the counter. There is chiaroscuro at work, and the shadows contrast wonderfully with the fragile porcelain and its aromatic holdings; there is light on the verges of their inclination.  Forget cold weather and darkness, this morning scene is perfect just as it is. Tea anyone?