Tea Time from Australia
The day is new, the pristine light dancing off dew drops clinging to the barb wire fence. The water flows from my tap, it flows directly from the bubbling stream below the ramshackle old shed just down from my farmhouse, a gurgling, rushing stream brimming with trout. I fill my kettle and place it on its holder, switching it on. I investigate my cupboard and select the perfect cup – not too big, not too small, not too thick and not straight – it has to have a huggable curve. I prepare my teal teapot, slipping off its crocheted cosy and filling its belly with fresh, fragrant black tea leaves that always smell of comfort, history, soil and spice. When the water has reached its perfect, shouting boil, I pour it into the teapot, the dried earthy leaves becoming moist and slippery. I quickly place on its lid and its jacket, lest I waste even a degree of warmth, and take it and my cup to the old toolbox-cum-table where it patiently sits, ruminating, brewing and waiting. I sigh and curl into my old, wrinkled blue leather chair and wait until the steam from the teapot smells just right. Too soon and it has no taste at all, too long and it is angry and bitter. When I know it is perfect, I pour the deep, dark, golden, red, black liquid into my waiting, perfect cup, and top it up with just the right amount of cool, fresh milk, until it is the exact mix of light and dark. My feet are drawn into my legs and my hands curl around my cup, smelling the earth, the breeze and the sun. Today will be a good day.
-Tea, written by Brittany Flinn, Editor/Detail Extraordinaire for Branded in Ink.