Morning in Bloom

Skies are leaden, and a fine murk wraps the village, rounding shapes and blurring the edges of houses, cars, trees and streets. This is one of those mornings when the village seems to be dancing (or skating) on the edge of the world and the weather and is not quite sure where it belongs. Late autumn, early winter? Where are we?

Adjectives like dark and sunless are evocative, but there are better words for such intervals: bosky, caliginous, cloudy, crepuscular, dark, dim, drab, dusky, gloomy, murky, nebulous, obfuscous, obscure, opaque, overcast, shadowy, somber, stygian, sunless, tenebrous, twilighted, umbral, vague, wintry.

With no light to speak of, this is not a morning for wandering about with camera and peripherals, so far anyway. When Beau and I went out a few minutes ago, an icy wind teased the backs of our necks, and the matter of a longer morning walk was put aside for now. My furry son trotted back into the bedroom and curled up in my warm spot. A single eye peered mournfully at me from behind the patchwork when I entered the room to console him with a tummy rub.

What to do? Upright, but not quite awake, I pull a canister of Chinese flower tea out of the pantry and brew up a pot. As the dried blooms take in liquid and open out, the kitchen is filled with perfume, and home is summery all over again.

Vessel, beaker and contents are almost too arty to drink, and I take image after image, posing them on the kitchen counter, on the old oak table in the dining room, on a wooden platter, a bamboo mat, a brightly coloured napkin. The teapot and cup pose cheerfully, sending up little clouds of fragrant steam and giving breathy sighs now and then. Small wonders amuse small minds on a grey morning in November.

There is a stack of art books to prowl through, and there is a little Mozart on the CD player (Die Zauberflöte). There is a folio of lovely creamy paper and a box of art pens in splendid Mediterranean shades to play with. For dinner this evening, there will be something fragrant and spicy that sings and dances on the tongue. There is room at the table for everyone, and there are enough mugs and cups to go around, mismatched of course. On days like this, one does whatever she can do to light things up. The more kindred spirits around her hearth and table, the better.