A little Haiku for Chamomile tea and other ramblings

The taste of flowers
A hint of grassy flowers
Chamomile Tea

I normally don’t find myself feeling poetic over tea.
Maybe it is the relief at having the estate sale behind me.
Maybe it was the bitter sweet sensation of seeing my mother’s house empty.
It was as if army ants had marched through and stripped it bare.
Just leaving behind the bones, and debris.
The cupboards bare, the closets open, all of the stuff and accumulation gone in less than 48 hours.

So on my Sunday afternoon, I set the kettle. Took some comfort in the routine of picking out my cup, and choosing something soothing.

Sitting still, sipping my tea
Breathing in the fragrance
It was like being in the sunshine on an early spring day
Both relaxing and enjoyable.

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