This is the morning light on a dewy a spider web in my front yard.
August: I wish we could borrow a few days from July, a few from September, and make August 40 days long. That would give me 40 of the best early mornings of the year.
Every morning, for 40 days, I’d wake up before sunrise, and lie in bed listening to the birds try to out-sing the cicadas (a warning that the coming day will be hot, very very hot).
I’d remember to do that quantum-field morning meditation where I create my day by telling myself that I’m going to live today in peace, productivity, and perseverance.
Then I’d get out of bed, put on a Summer dress, step into my sneakers, go downstairs and put the tea kettle on the stove. then I’d feed the cats, while the water boils.
I’d put a drop of vanilla extract into my tea, with a big dollop of honey, and I’d head out doors to breathe the freshest air of the day . I’d watch the sun rise, lighting up a flower bed here and there, illuminating the woods behind my house. I’d put off thinking about my To Do List until all the night shadows still hanging around the corners of the yard had vanishished into thin air.
Your Comments last week were fantastic! Thank you for so many great tea names! All of them sound exactly like the kind of tea I would be glad to take with me in a Go Cup on every August morning.
I love the suggestion of having a Four Season choice of tea — after all, does anyone in her right mind drink a big duskyLapsang Suchong in the Summer? A dainty little Earl Grey in February?
So many good tea ideas to consider! Thank you so much for giving me so much to ponder (I need a cup of tea).
P. S. And yes, Barbara, I did sew that embroidered picture of me and my cats: the original is hanging in my downstairs powder room:
You know, in Winter, this powder room gets the most beautiful afternoon light. A flood of sunshine comes in through the window just out of view (to the side of the sink) like it’s the portal to some kind Bathroom Henge. And, as I live in a drafty, 100-year old house, this specially solar-powered powder room becomes the most snug room in the house around 3 o’clock every Winter afternoon. There are times when I’ve sat in here, with my afternoon cup of tea and a good book, soaking up some rare sun beams on a cold Winter day.
Good thing I haven’t asked you to come up with names for Drinking in the Downstairs Bathroom Tea. I’d hate to think what you’d come up with.