The world outside is still dark, and the village is a collection of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. A waning yellow moon is visible behind the whiskery trees in the garden. In the early hours of the day, the kitchen is a place of shadows, and I lean sleepily against the counter, my bones, sinews and joints protesting the weather. Summer seems like 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. Freshly ground espresso? Royal Cream Earl Grey? Constant Comment? Cloudberry (Arpiqutik) or Crowberry (Paurngaqutik)? Rooibos? Ginseng? Lapsang Souchong? Perhaps a simple Orange Pekoe?
The last container is way in the back of the tea cupboard, and it holds little nubbins of 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. I am not sure why, but for some reason, the late Margaret Lawrence's exquisite memoir of her time in Somaliland (The Prophet's Camel Bell) comes to mind. I must locate the tattered paperback copy in my library and read it again. OK, this is the ambrosial stuff we will quaff on this murky morning. Bring on the bells.
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 the 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?
2 comments:
How lovely to find out chrysanthemums can be made into tea. I'll have to check which species I have, and look forward to experimenting.
You have a lovely selection of teas, cate! I've started drinking macha and enjoy the ritual of making it.
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