Tuesday, November 12, 2019

Morning in Bloom

Skies are leaden, and a fine murk wraps the village.  Snow fell overnight and everything is shrouded in white, houses, cars, trees and streets. This is one of those mornings when the village seems to be dancing (or skating) on the edge of the world and the weather and not quite sure where it belongs. 

Adjectives like dark and sunless are evocative, but there are better words for such intervals: bosky, caliginous, cloudy, crepuscular, dark, dim, drab, dusky, gloomy, murky, nebulous, obfuscous, obscure, opaque, overcast, shadowy, somber, stygian, sunless, tenebrous, twilighted, umbral, vague, wintry.

With no light to speak of, this is not a morning for wandering about with camera and peripherals, so far anyway. When Beau and I went out a few minutes ago, an icy wind teased the backs of our necks, and the matter of a longer morning walk was put aside for now. My furry son trotted back into the bedroom and curled up in my warm spot. A single eye peered mournfully at me from behind the patchwork when I entered the room to console him with a tummy rub.

What to do? Upright, but not quite awake, I pulled a canister of Chinese flower tea  out of the pantry and brewed up a pot. As the dried blooms took in liquid and opened out, the kitchen filled with perfume, and home was summery all over again. Vessel, beaker and contents were almost too arty to drink, and I took image after image, posing them on the kitchen counter, on the old oak table in the dining room, on a wooden platter, a bamboo mat. The teapot and cup posed cheerfully, sending up little clouds of fragrant steam and giving breathy sighs now and then. Small wonders amuse small minds on a snowy morning in November.

There is a stack of art books to prowl through, and there is a little Mozart on the CD player (Die Zauberfl√∂te). There is a folio of lovely creamy paper and a box of art pens in splendid Mediterranean shades to play with.  There will be scones this morning, and for dinner this evening, there will be something fragrant and spicy that sings and dances on the tongue. There is room at the table for everyone, and there are enough mugs and cups to go around too, mismatched of course. On days like this, one does whatever she can do to light things up.

5 comments:

Tabor said...

I have been forgetting to play the CD player and change our music up a bit!!

kerrdelune said...

Tabor, perhaps I can turn my snow shovel into a magic flute.

Barbara Rogers said...

That certainly is a beautiful photo of a beautiful flower in a beautiful teapot. Triple beauty and I'm imagining the smell, and finally the taste! You and Tabor have made me smile, and find some good CDs as well!

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

Love this
and buying that tea
and a new Mozart CD

Kiki said...

Not only an ode of beauty, but also a poem of optimism, making the best of a situation, it’s a song of quiet happiness and dare I say it, I’m already enjoying John Rutter’s Songbook (Christmas music mostly) on my player. Light those candles too, they are important and add an extra layer of peaceful winter feelings of warmth and hygge-whatever!