Refreshing on a hot summer day with ice in it. Soothes a tummy ache. Wonderful and warm on a cold day with a book to read. Tastes better if made with leaves.
Why was there no tea in the cabinet? I stocked it last night he thought. Something behind him went pitter patter pitter patter. He whipped his head around just quick enough to catch a glimpse of a pale little foot about the size of a coat button scurrying off under the table. “AUGh!”
I was just thinking about tea the other day. There are so many drinks here in Thailand, but there are also so many drinks they don’t have that i miss. One of them is tea. My mom used to make tea all the time when I was little and she would pour me some in this little red cup that we kept for years, and every time i saw it i would remember my mom making tea in that big bowl over the stove.
“My time’s running out,” I think to myself, as I take a sip from my cup.
I mash my fingers onto the keyboard, desperately catching at words as they enter my brain. I check the clock – 5:30am. I have school in two hours.
She held the warm cup in her hands. It was the only source of warmth in this cold, dark cabin.
“I really can’t stay, Mrs. Hemmings, but thanks for the offer,” she said.
“No problem dearie,” Mrs. Hemmings replied, beaming, her face almost skeletal. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Tea?”
“You know I don’t like tea.”
“I know. I thought maybe you’d like something new this morning.”
“No. Just bring me my usual, dear.”
“Alright.”
“Thanks.”
In the mountains of tea rested a deep hollow. In that hollow rested a man with a dream. As the fog rolled through the valley and the sun rose high into the sky the man arose from his slumber.
It’s unfortunate, but for some strange reason, the word ‘tea’ conjures up images of stuffy old women. In my nightmares, they’re perfectly coiffed, corseted, and don white gloves that inspect me for impropriety. And their white powdered faces hover over me while they drink Earl Grey and eat crumpets daintily. Hence my love for coffee.
“But Henry, will we be back in time for tea?”
Josephine was in quite a panic.
Henry looked around himself, at the unending expanse of desert, and the crippled wreckage of the plane from which they had just, miraculously, crawled.
“No dear,” he wiped his brow; “and I think our dinner guests will be disappointed also.”
Fascinating situation, I am enjoying a wonderful tea right now. It is a pineapple-flavored tea that is just as fragrant as it is delicious. I could have went the coffee route this morning, but decided I may not need the caffeine and heavy flavor on this sunshine-filled morning. I likely need some hydration anyway. I forget how much I enjoy the tea experience. It’s more healthy and than coffee and I should drink tea more.
I drink tea as well as coffee because of the wonderful attributes it has for my mind allowing me to be grateful for all I have around me. Tea and Gratitude…wonderful things…
Tea spills over my skin and stain my fingernails tea Amber that encases my grandmothers patience. Ginger cardamom honey milk sugar tea. simmer froth gulp tea. Parle g haldiram jeera biscuit India west tea. chasing winter sunbeams across the carpet tea
James’ mother always used tea as a solution to every problem the world could throw. He fell off his bike once, and she brought him tea. He slammed his finger in the door? Tea. It was cathartic, for the both of them. James had brought Lily tea after her father died. She said nothing, but she drank it anyway. He never knew if it helped or not, but he liked to think it did.
The steam arose from the top of the cup, as if to remind me that the weather wasn’t quite ideal. I could use a light. Anything to break the dreariness of the day. I squint my eyes, look out into the darkness, and wonder what is just beyond my vision. I hear a sound, raise the rifle, fire one round, and then silence. Reach over, lift the cup to my lips, and sip my tea.
I’d wanted to write of a dream. It wasn’t one based in tea leaves, but in teacups. Surprisingly two goldfish floated out of their small “bowls” of a sort. Into the air they went. They swam so rhythmically. I felt like I had to capture them, return them to their proper homes, but it wasn’t in my spirit to do so. It was because they swam through the air so freely. In this scenario who’s to say “the water” is where they truly belong. This feeling came strongest to me despite the kisses and pull I felt tugging at me from another direction, begging me to come back to consciousness and return their affections.
This dream: I know what it means, but at the same time I don’t know what it means. Maybe that’s why the fish pull at me even now in the late night hours, a haunting reflection from the subconscious that drags me back into the night. A cycle in a system that cannot deviate. Maybe it bothers me because even daylight, pure sunshine, there was little I could do to shake the specter of this dream.
Tea is like something that can make you warm inside. It puts a smile on your face, it wakens you. I really enjoy tea, i think my favorite tea is green tea simply because its simple, its everywhere. Tea is life!
“Would you like some tea?”
“No. Thank you,” she added, stepping further into the room, careful to close the door behind her. “I shouldn’t want to be missed,”
Irah hummed in agreement, moving to fill his own cup. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting, young Huntress?”
Wringing her hands together behind her back, she stepped forward, her face illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace. “I need your help,”
“I’ve never had tea before,” she said, and his eye brows turned down slightly.
“You’ve never-” He couldn’t finish as he quietly got up and went to the stove, absently turning the package of tea over and over in his hand. Before long, a quiet whistle was heard and he returned to the table, pouring her a cup and placed the leaves in the liquid.
Before handing the steaming cup to her he blew on it, but still did not look at her. One of her hands accidentally brushed his as he handed it to her, and she blushed and tried to pull away.
Instead, his eyes looked into hers as he grasped it more firmly and brought it down to the table with his, interlocking their fingers as her smile grew. He moved to the edge of her seat in anticipation as she brought the cup to her lips, hoping her to like it and-
“This tastes like plant.” She tried to keep smiling, but her tongue kept trying to get the taste out of her mouth. His eyes rolled, but squeezed her hand.
“I actually don’t really like tea that much,” Aisling said with a tiny regretful smile on her face as Syaoran set a cup in front of her.
“O-oh, really? Well, I could make you something else, if you’d like, I didn’t know… -” he replies, somewhat hastily, and there’s an expression of worry on his face. Aisling knows what it is, and it makes her smile seeing at how earnest he’s trying to please her. It’s too endearing, she has to admit, and it takes every ounce of her willpower not to reach over and wrap her arms around him.
“Don’t worry,” she laughs, picking up the cup and taking a tiny sip. “Just for you, I think I might like it.”
Tea is bitter or sweet depending on how you take it and I guess thats kind of fucked up b/c why cant tea be bitter if it wants to be bitter. hy do we have to insist upon changing the tea that makes for a shitty meal because we dont let the tea be itself.
Steam spiraling in the air. Friends easily chatting about the struggle of faith, professional life, the dating culture and the latest in fall fashion. Tea is the perfect drink to inspire conversation.
I love drinking tea- when I read and now that I gave up coffee for 3 weeks. It makes me feel healthy and glowing. I like to have different kinds of tea to choose from. Tea tree. I have no idea what to write about tea. Uh.
I hate tea, I hate the way it all taste Earth and that hipster trash have just decided to take it as their own. I hate the wormy smell it gives off and I hate the grotesque way the sight is dark and yet still opaque.
“Man that’s hot” the cup rolled across the table hot tea running on the corners. I don’t like tea. Frankly I don’t know why I’m drinkin it. “Clean this mess up!” His strong muscular arms tilted the cup back on the table. “Why am I related to you!” I shrugged and wiped the tea up with some paper towels. “It’s destiny.” He rolled his eyes and his head went toward his laptops.
The mug was cold, just like him. She sat watching his face, remembering the color his lips had once been. He hadn’t deserved her, and she didn’t deserve this victory. She took a sip and smiled.
good beverage to drink
smooth in morning or daytime
loose or compact
hot or cold
many flavors
organic
fusion with fruit
tasty in summer or winter
refreshing or calming
love, warmth, all in one cup, I love tea. twirling the honey around, like a whirlwind of thoughts tangentially becoming aware of all things transfusing in and out
I always worry the moment I hit the ‘go’ button to receive my word that I will have nothing to write about. But tea?! Tea is such a big part of my existence and too much of a love of mine to write about in 60 seconds! I can’t function without my mug in the morning or without my afternoon tea reboot with a biscuit. Tea really does make everything better.
“It’s hard to grow a tree when
all we are is matchsticks,”
you say, lion-tongued,
and our stretching shoulders do not
look like wings, but emaciated butterflies,
fluttering just below bulimic depressions;
we expel the sparks and shivers
into the throes of horizon-malfunctions,
chamomile blossoming in the sure-fires
of December as we burn
our paper skins to dust.
She poured me my green tea and subtly smiled.
So broken.
I smiled back and took out the smudgy compact mirror I forgot my mom had given me before I left.
Holy shit.
I brewed myself a pot of peppermint tea while I waited for Angela to return home. She had been away for three weeks now, and the sheer amount of loneliness I had endured was at last beginning to truly gnaw away at me. Even when I managed to get myself warm during the winter nights, I knew that, without Angie’s arms around me, I was not destined for a peaceful sleep.
As I sipped my tea, the door opened, and the wind chimes clanged from outside. When Angela stepped into the living room, she did not look the same.
All the writer really needs, it is said, concentration, inspiration and big cup of tea. So why couldn’t he write? No worlds unfurled from the ink of his pen. No princesses needed rescuing, nor were there courteous or manipulative princes or kings. It would’ve been funny if his livelihood hadn’t depended on it. His mind was empty.
Refreshing on a hot summer day with ice in it. Soothes a tummy ache. Wonderful and warm on a cold day with a book to read. Tastes better if made with leaves.
You can drink cold and hot.
Can be dark or clear.
The taste is very good and is very common in england
Could I give you some tea? That’s really a energizing drink that helps me to be awake to study all night. God bless United Kingdom!
Why was there no tea in the cabinet? I stocked it last night he thought. Something behind him went pitter patter pitter patter. He whipped his head around just quick enough to catch a glimpse of a pale little foot about the size of a coat button scurrying off under the table. “AUGh!”
I was just thinking about tea the other day. There are so many drinks here in Thailand, but there are also so many drinks they don’t have that i miss. One of them is tea. My mom used to make tea all the time when I was little and she would pour me some in this little red cup that we kept for years, and every time i saw it i would remember my mom making tea in that big bowl over the stove.
“My time’s running out,” I think to myself, as I take a sip from my cup.
I mash my fingers onto the keyboard, desperately catching at words as they enter my brain. I check the clock – 5:30am. I have school in two hours.
“I guess I’m submitting late again.”
She held the warm cup in her hands. It was the only source of warmth in this cold, dark cabin.
“I really can’t stay, Mrs. Hemmings, but thanks for the offer,” she said.
“No problem dearie,” Mrs. Hemmings replied, beaming, her face almost skeletal. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Tea?”
“You know I don’t like tea.”
“I know. I thought maybe you’d like something new this morning.”
“No. Just bring me my usual, dear.”
“Alright.”
“Thanks.”
The usual. Coffee. Two sugars.
Bittersweet.
In the mountains of tea rested a deep hollow. In that hollow rested a man with a dream. As the fog rolled through the valley and the sun rose high into the sky the man arose from his slumber.
It’s unfortunate, but for some strange reason, the word ‘tea’ conjures up images of stuffy old women. In my nightmares, they’re perfectly coiffed, corseted, and don white gloves that inspect me for impropriety. And their white powdered faces hover over me while they drink Earl Grey and eat crumpets daintily. Hence my love for coffee.
“But Henry, will we be back in time for tea?”
Josephine was in quite a panic.
Henry looked around himself, at the unending expanse of desert, and the crippled wreckage of the plane from which they had just, miraculously, crawled.
“No dear,” he wiped his brow; “and I think our dinner guests will be disappointed also.”
They don’t notice
now, when they burn their tongues
touching the cup like a chalice.
Fascinating situation, I am enjoying a wonderful tea right now. It is a pineapple-flavored tea that is just as fragrant as it is delicious. I could have went the coffee route this morning, but decided I may not need the caffeine and heavy flavor on this sunshine-filled morning. I likely need some hydration anyway. I forget how much I enjoy the tea experience. It’s more healthy and than coffee and I should drink tea more.
I drink tea as well as coffee because of the wonderful attributes it has for my mind allowing me to be grateful for all I have around me. Tea and Gratitude…wonderful things…
is something that i drink when i am out of coffee. i don’t like green tea though.
The leaves are picked, thrown in scalding water, immersed for a minute then poured in a cup.
Tea spills over my skin and stain my fingernails tea Amber that encases my grandmothers patience. Ginger cardamom honey milk sugar tea. simmer froth gulp tea. Parle g haldiram jeera biscuit India west tea. chasing winter sunbeams across the carpet tea
Tea is a part of my morning ritual. It was so for as ever I can remember. Infact I cannot go to sleep at night without my cup of milo tea.
James’ mother always used tea as a solution to every problem the world could throw. He fell off his bike once, and she brought him tea. He slammed his finger in the door? Tea. It was cathartic, for the both of them. James had brought Lily tea after her father died. She said nothing, but she drank it anyway. He never knew if it helped or not, but he liked to think it did.
The steam arose from the top of the cup, as if to remind me that the weather wasn’t quite ideal. I could use a light. Anything to break the dreariness of the day. I squint my eyes, look out into the darkness, and wonder what is just beyond my vision. I hear a sound, raise the rifle, fire one round, and then silence. Reach over, lift the cup to my lips, and sip my tea.
I’d wanted to write of a dream. It wasn’t one based in tea leaves, but in teacups. Surprisingly two goldfish floated out of their small “bowls” of a sort. Into the air they went. They swam so rhythmically. I felt like I had to capture them, return them to their proper homes, but it wasn’t in my spirit to do so. It was because they swam through the air so freely. In this scenario who’s to say “the water” is where they truly belong. This feeling came strongest to me despite the kisses and pull I felt tugging at me from another direction, begging me to come back to consciousness and return their affections.
This dream: I know what it means, but at the same time I don’t know what it means. Maybe that’s why the fish pull at me even now in the late night hours, a haunting reflection from the subconscious that drags me back into the night. A cycle in a system that cannot deviate. Maybe it bothers me because even daylight, pure sunshine, there was little I could do to shake the specter of this dream.
Tea is like something that can make you warm inside. It puts a smile on your face, it wakens you. I really enjoy tea, i think my favorite tea is green tea simply because its simple, its everywhere. Tea is life!
“Would you like some tea?”
“No. Thank you,” she added, stepping further into the room, careful to close the door behind her. “I shouldn’t want to be missed,”
Irah hummed in agreement, moving to fill his own cup. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting, young Huntress?”
Wringing her hands together behind her back, she stepped forward, her face illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace. “I need your help,”
“I’ve never had tea before,” she said, and his eye brows turned down slightly.
“You’ve never-” He couldn’t finish as he quietly got up and went to the stove, absently turning the package of tea over and over in his hand. Before long, a quiet whistle was heard and he returned to the table, pouring her a cup and placed the leaves in the liquid.
Before handing the steaming cup to her he blew on it, but still did not look at her. One of her hands accidentally brushed his as he handed it to her, and she blushed and tried to pull away.
Instead, his eyes looked into hers as he grasped it more firmly and brought it down to the table with his, interlocking their fingers as her smile grew. He moved to the edge of her seat in anticipation as she brought the cup to her lips, hoping her to like it and-
“This tastes like plant.” She tried to keep smiling, but her tongue kept trying to get the taste out of her mouth. His eyes rolled, but squeezed her hand.
“I actually don’t really like tea that much,” Aisling said with a tiny regretful smile on her face as Syaoran set a cup in front of her.
“O-oh, really? Well, I could make you something else, if you’d like, I didn’t know… -” he replies, somewhat hastily, and there’s an expression of worry on his face. Aisling knows what it is, and it makes her smile seeing at how earnest he’s trying to please her. It’s too endearing, she has to admit, and it takes every ounce of her willpower not to reach over and wrap her arms around him.
“Don’t worry,” she laughs, picking up the cup and taking a tiny sip. “Just for you, I think I might like it.”
Tea is bitter or sweet depending on how you take it and I guess thats kind of fucked up b/c why cant tea be bitter if it wants to be bitter. hy do we have to insist upon changing the tea that makes for a shitty meal because we dont let the tea be itself.
Steam spiraling in the air. Friends easily chatting about the struggle of faith, professional life, the dating culture and the latest in fall fashion. Tea is the perfect drink to inspire conversation.
I love drinking tea- when I read and now that I gave up coffee for 3 weeks. It makes me feel healthy and glowing. I like to have different kinds of tea to choose from. Tea tree. I have no idea what to write about tea. Uh.
I hate tea, I hate the way it all taste Earth and that hipster trash have just decided to take it as their own. I hate the wormy smell it gives off and I hate the grotesque way the sight is dark and yet still opaque.
Tea. Earl grey. Hot.
“Man that’s hot” the cup rolled across the table hot tea running on the corners. I don’t like tea. Frankly I don’t know why I’m drinkin it. “Clean this mess up!” His strong muscular arms tilted the cup back on the table. “Why am I related to you!” I shrugged and wiped the tea up with some paper towels. “It’s destiny.” He rolled his eyes and his head went toward his laptops.
The mug was cold, just like him. She sat watching his face, remembering the color his lips had once been. He hadn’t deserved her, and she didn’t deserve this victory. She took a sip and smiled.
good beverage to drink
smooth in morning or daytime
loose or compact
hot or cold
many flavors
organic
fusion with fruit
tasty in summer or winter
refreshing or calming
Warms me to the core with it’s steamy goodness
A wise man once treated those with troubles with a small cup
of aromatic tea.
Iroh, thank you for your wisdom.
love, warmth, all in one cup, I love tea. twirling the honey around, like a whirlwind of thoughts tangentially becoming aware of all things transfusing in and out
I always worry the moment I hit the ‘go’ button to receive my word that I will have nothing to write about. But tea?! Tea is such a big part of my existence and too much of a love of mine to write about in 60 seconds! I can’t function without my mug in the morning or without my afternoon tea reboot with a biscuit. Tea really does make everything better.
“It’s hard to grow a tree when
all we are is matchsticks,”
you say, lion-tongued,
and our stretching shoulders do not
look like wings, but emaciated butterflies,
fluttering just below bulimic depressions;
we expel the sparks and shivers
into the throes of horizon-malfunctions,
chamomile blossoming in the sure-fires
of December as we burn
our paper skins to dust.
She poured me my green tea and subtly smiled.
So broken.
I smiled back and took out the smudgy compact mirror I forgot my mom had given me before I left.
Holy shit.
I brewed myself a pot of peppermint tea while I waited for Angela to return home. She had been away for three weeks now, and the sheer amount of loneliness I had endured was at last beginning to truly gnaw away at me. Even when I managed to get myself warm during the winter nights, I knew that, without Angie’s arms around me, I was not destined for a peaceful sleep.
As I sipped my tea, the door opened, and the wind chimes clanged from outside. When Angela stepped into the living room, she did not look the same.
All the writer really needs, it is said, concentration, inspiration and big cup of tea. So why couldn’t he write? No worlds unfurled from the ink of his pen. No princesses needed rescuing, nor were there courteous or manipulative princes or kings. It would’ve been funny if his livelihood hadn’t depended on it. His mind was empty.