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Tea Time "Would you like one lump or two?" I look up, glance down at the cup and saucer balanced in my hand, the tea deep brown and steaming. I pour in a dollop of cream. I dwell in a dream world. The fragrance of freshly brewed full-bodied tea sends me across the Atlantic and I sit in the front parlor of an English manor house. I sip Darjeeling cross-legged on a silken cushion in an Indian palace. A bag of orange pekoe, a boiling pot of hot water on a wood stove: I wonder at mountain vistas outside a rustic cabin window. A flower, jasmine, floats in the bowl of a handless cup; gently lift it up with both hands, bow in respect to my kimono-ed host. Riffle through the cabinet, sort through boxes and canisters. Where will vision lead this afternoon? Read the labels, pick out an Irish tea, listen to the strains of a Gaelic melody from the midst of the Emerald Isle. |
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