Eccentric Tea Woman

  They sat together at the counter in the diner. Him - slightly hungover yet in a good mood. Her - fully sober and pissed off. He reached for his crumpled pack of cigarettes, only to recoil when she slapped his hand. She sipped her coffee and wondered how long it would take to toast a damn bagel. He gently placed his hand on her knee and this time, she didn’t slap it. A single night turned into a vast crevice that could never be repaired. He wanted forgiveness. She wanted his nuts in her hand. They knew they had to leave the diner sooner or later, yet neither one wanted to make the initial move. That move would mean that it was truly over. She glanced at him over the rim of her coffee cup. He tightened his grip on her knee. She wanted him to ask for forgiveness. He wanted to brush his teeth. He finished off his Tea and sighed as he released her knee. They both froze - was this it? He looked at her. She looked at him. Hey - he said. Hey back - she replied. Five minutes later, the diner

  The wandering poet knows no home. The world is her bed with thick pillows. She drinks the ink and studies leaves on trees, knowing that the inspiration is right in front of her. Her eyes aren’t real. They are two violet coloured orbs that look into the future and turns it into a wild wave. She makes friends with strangers because they live one second to the next. She writes her poetry on the beach, above the mountains, and under the oceans. She is not afraid of losing them, only that they will last beyond time. Her wide brim hat shields her from the sun’s affection while her cloak was made from the tears of the moon. She thinks. She writes. She loves. All given freely. She wanders because her feet must move. She knows that no grass will follow her. The moss will find another home. The wandering poet sighs as the rivers wave to her. She knows that she is loved. Come, she says. Let me feed you with my words. Let me show you what the world can do. I accept her invitation and then comes

(photo by me - prints for sale) We were told to stand up and fly right. We were told that family always came first. We were told that we weren’t good enough, pretty enough, capable enough. These words from those who were called family. Those who loved us and wanted what was best for us. We were stepped on, pushed out of the way, learned that we would never be good enough. We would cry in the dark yet come out smiling because we had to. Always a pain in the ass. Why can’t you listen to me? Don’t go against what we have planned for your miserable life. And then....one day.... We woke up. Learned that the world is bigger than their house. We viewed colours for the first time and dared to live because they were afraid to do so. They saw our wings and tried to clip them off. They saw the light in our eyes and yelled even louder. You won’t make it, they would scream. You can’t make it without us. You’re nothing. The wings were heavy because we were getting used to them. We tried to fly, only

  A corporate woman with a heart of an eccentric girl. She enjoyed her purple lipstick, her cherry blossom combat boots, and her no nonsense attitude. She sat in her cubicle while a framed picture of Miles Davis stared at her. She remembered what it meant to not give a fuck. And she still felt that way. Books were her escape. Books gave her comfort when she realized that the world had long ago turned its back on her. Words, staining pages, leapt out at her. Clove cigarettes, dancing to Siouxsie, and not worrying about the time. Here and now was her rule and even many years later, it was still her creed. She shut down her corporate laptop and left for the day, while the sounds of Garbage permeated her senses. She entered the elevator, watched the doors slowly close, and then began to dance.

  There is a river flowing beside my footprints Made of the tears of those who never truly got over their faults. A bittersweet river made for a bittersweet time To reflect what others feel without a waste of words. From time to time, I help in the construction, Forcing the thorns up my throat and out my mouth. A season Of dying leaves prepared to occupy the river Are of the utmost importance; the leaves are draped in spiders’ Dreams and rotting breath. A cyclical force churns the river,  Giving it animation where Death was once King. Slivers of rock adorn the river, adding substance To another year, perhaps. Dryads dance to an inner song, teasing me of my flesh prison; It is never my fault. They think the river Is a chance of a new life, a chance beyond their wooden prisons. So, we are prisoners, small and immense, trapped but in favour With one another, giving homage to the waters Flowing freely, wishing us its own success. Cool breezes Flow backward, distant and careless, succeeding

Of course, when I sit alone in my space, My refuge when I no longer wish to be human, I smoke, horrible, and think - Dreaming of times when I was a thought And not just a smear upon the wall. Perhaps this is melodramatic; a sign of weakness Among those who live for the written word But I must confess that I am In this way…unhappy. Sacrificed like so many other times When I was young and flexible like putty Able to be molded into whatever others wished of me Now, the clay is hardened; Whatever was last implanted upon me Has remained. So, I drink tea made of clouds to forget And instead turn myself towards the unseen To melt my clay and give me sanity.

 (my grandmother's hands - photo by me) Falling snow on my lips taste of clear air fading before I understand.

  They walked into the high end shopping center with the intent of taking a nice stroll indoors and out of the approaching rainstorm. As they walked by the myriad of stores, she allowed her gaze to linger a bit longer than normal at the expensive purses, clothing, and bath products that smelled of clean sheets and bamboo. She grew up in a world in which one simply pulled out their American Express to make a purchase, then met up with friends at a local restaurant. Instead, she walked by the stores without going inside, mainly because she was broke. In choosing her own path rather than the one she was previously on to appease everyone else, she soon learned what it meant to not have enough. Even though she had a roof over her head, three good meals a day, and a clean and warm bed to sleep in, she was still broke. Sometimes, she would creep out of her bed and into the living room, where she would cry for an hour over not being to pay for anything. Those thoughts haunted her as they walke

(photo by me) 4:30 in the morning. Her eyes snapped wide open while another round of hot flashes covered her body. Rather than throw the sheets and comforter off her body, she instead sunk deeper into the bed. Her mind wandered to the recurring fact that yes, she was still alive and she had much work to do. She smiled in spite of the heat threatening to take over her body. Her eyes focused on the sleeping form next to her; he could always fall asleep within seconds, she thought with a smile. She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. Modeh ani , she thought and then sat up straight in bed. She mouthed the words - I need a cup of jasmine green. She looked at her boyfriend snoring away, then got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. Several minutes later, she held a cup of her favourite tea while she sat on the couch in the dark. She smelled the tea and whispered again - Modeh ani . For the first time in her life, those words rang true to her life. I am grateful, she wh

  (photo by me) He looked at me strangely when I asked him why he loved Earl Grey so much. He placed a spoon in his cup and slowly stirred, while his bright green eyes focused on my embarrassed face. It's the creme de la creme of teas, he said with a dignified air. He set the spoon on the saucer and then gently lifted the tea cup to his lips. He barely set the edge of the cup against his lips as he sipped the hot liquid. He slurped lightly and then closed his eyes as he returned the cup to the saucer. You look as though you've had the most delicious orgasm, I said with smirk. Bergamot makes my toes curl in a good way, he replied, eyes open wide, and then laughed. I raised my cup of Darjeeling to my lips and made a loud slurp. Funny how you and I treat tea like gold, I said with my cup still in my hand. Do you think our ivory towers are too high to see the clouds? Mine allows me to smell roses every morning, he replied. What the hell does that even mean, I asked in a frustrated

  (Model: Alissa) She was in love with a dead author. I tried to tell her that there were plenty of fish in the sea, yet she would have none of that. He touches my soul in a way that most living men could never do, she told me one morning over cups of jasmine tea. I slowly sipped on my tea, allowing the flavours to wash over my tongue while she spoke of how one night, she located codes within his works that spoke to her. I know that somehow, she said as she took her cup in her hands and studied it, he's seeking me out. That his words, written several hundred years ago, were written so that I can comprehend them now. I know he loves me. I smiled and finished off my tea, then poured myself another cup. You think I'm mad, she said with a sad smile. You think I'm lonely. Honestly, I replied, I really don't know what to think. All of my life, she replied, I've dreamt of living a life filled with good books, witty conversations, multiple visits to art museums, the reemerg

  As much as I enjoy drinking Tea, there are times when it becomes more than just a moment of quiet reflection. It's a chance to explore something new and delve into one's imagination! Drinking Tea from Mariage Freres is one of those times. This Tea company in France creates some of the finest Teas and to drink them is decadent - their packaging and muslin Tea bags are simply adorable! The Marco Polo blend is a black Tea combined with Chinese and Tibetan flowers and fruits. As soon as hot water comes into contact with the Tea bag, you are no longer in your kitchen, but rather on top of a camel as you seek out new lands. The mouthfeel of the Tea is velvet and smooth with no harsh bitterness. Even if you allow the bag to steep longer than normal (like I do sometimes), the Tea is still beautiful. I'm enjoying a cup of it right now while typing and the flavour intensifies as it cools down. Since this is a black Tea blend, there is caffeine, so if you're sensitive then this

  (New Orleans City Park - photo by me) She embraced the connection with bookstores because she had no friends. Beings made from blood and skin, farts and tears, would turn the other way whenever she appeared. It wasn't that she was a horrible person, but only that no one cared about her and the words that spilled from her mouth. She couldn't see the attraction of making small talk, or caring about someone's kid on a sports team. Do you dream, she would ask people. Are you afraid of the sky? Why did the gods of old leave us? No one would answer her, and so she turned her questions to books. Silent, resilient through the times, and ready to accept her for who and what she was. She enjoyed turning the pages, causing the dust from the words to rise up and tickle her nose. She savoured wandering through bookstores during rainy days, knowing that she would be home soon with a new friend. Bookstores attracted the restless, the lovers, the insomniacs, and the stimulators. She dipp

  The child walked up to me with a large red balloon tied to his wrist. He grinned, showing off missing teeth, and then asked me where I was going. I looked at my worn shoes and wondered that same question. Where was I going? Where had I been? The little boy untied his balloon and handed it to me, telling me that whatever I dream of, the balloon will make it appear. Since you're lost, he added in a surprisingly adult tone, then perhaps the balloon will help you find where you need to go. I took the balloon from the child, causing him to disappear. I closed my eyes, felt the warm winds blowing across my face, and then found myself before a small purple painted house in the middle of a forest. An old man dressed in a black robe walked out of the front door and toward me. Welcome to my little Tea house, he said with a grin. I've been expecting you for the last three years. His eyes took in my red balloon. Did a child give you that, he asked me. He told me that it would take me to

  (tea leaves photo by me) The old crow flew down from the skies and perched next to me. Of all the times when I flew, he said in a gravelly voice, I wished to be on the ground. He cocked his head at me and waited for my reply. Instead, I set a small tin cup before him and filled it with my morning Tea. He cawed once, then lowered his beak into the warm liquid. Conversations are always important, I replied while he drank. That's why we are lost without them. The crow continued to drink the Tea. Just then, a woman with red hair and dressed in all black, walked up to us and sat down on the other side of me. I've forgotten how to think, she said in a singsong voice. The crow raised his head and cawed - then how are you talking now? His black beady eyes focused on her crooked smile. She closed her eyes and transformed into another crow. I stared off at the clouds and wondered if our thoughts betray us, or if we are the result of them. I then poured Tea into another cup and gave it

  I remember how a guy I once knew told me that Tea was nothing more than "tepid salad water" and that not everyone drinks Tea. We aren't friends anymore. I know that Tea isn't for everyone, yet it IS the second most consumed beverage on the planet, right after water. Go figure. When I made the switch from coffee to Tea (and somewhat back again!), I learned that many countries have some form of Tea culture or practice in their everyday lives. From ceremonies to samovars, from gaiwans to French presses - we all brew righteously. I tend to associate Tea with slowing down, conversing with others, meditating, connecting to the world, and a desire to view the world with a different perspective. When Autumn and Winter arrive on our doorsteps, the thought of being curled up with a blanket with a cup of Tea and a good book sounds divine. I tend to do that all year long, but that's just me! The first time I attended a tea festival, I geeked out big time. To be surrounded b