Early Morning Tea

Summary

The web content reflects on the interplay between the ritual of early morning tea, the act of writing, and the inspiration drawn from a child's story about discovering magic in the everyday.

Abstract

In the early morning darkness, the writer finds solace in the simple act of making tea, a process that evokes memories and sparks creativity. The steeping of tea leaves becomes a metaphor for the unfolding of stories, as the writer recalls a tale of a young girl who, through her imagination, finds wonder in her surroundings and saves her family from an unwanted move. The narrative emphasizes the importance of recognizing the magic in the mundane and the value of being true to oneself. The writer acknowledges the organic evolution of stories, appreciating the previous day's inspiration that contributes to the current day's writing, and the continuous cycle of creativity that is nurtured by the simple pleasures of life, such as a hot cup of tea.

Opinions

The writer values the power of imagination and its ability to transform the ordinary into something extraordinary.
There is a reverence for the creative process, which is seen as both a personal journey and a collaboration with the characters and stories that come to life in the writer's mind.
The writer believes in the importance of authenticity, encouraging the embrace of one's true self, especially when unobserved by others.
There is a conscious decision to allow stories to develop naturally, resisting the urge to over-refine and potentially strip them of their inherent magic.
The writer sees a connection between the rituals of daily life, such as drinking tea, and the act of writing, suggesting that both can be forms of meditation and sources of inspiration.
The act of writing is portrayed as an ongoing conversation with oneself and the world, where past experiences and present moments intertwine to create something new.

Magic requires three minutes

It’s pitch black world outside my windows — In more ways than one, I chuckle to myself, Pouring boiling water over dried dull leaves, Wondering at browned tiny white flowers Relaxing into releasing fragrance to stir Memories, wonderings, early morning musing At yesterday’s story where young, bored child Spots raptor riding thermals in desert sear, Discovers its ancestors soaring overhead in cave, Thus saving her family from moving to Boston.

Yesterday’s story is not mine, belongs to a little girl, A character who arrived with a name, an attitude, Issues no one wants to see nor get involved in fixing. That child is brilliant, a genius at spotting magic In the everyday surroundings, reminders we were giants Once and so may be again if we dare to be ourselves When no one is watching, when tea is hot, day cold, And there is no way to pull that story back nor would I Even if I could, to futz and polish, refine and make overt Obvious theme and message and sharpen dull dialogue, Cut the chaff and arrive at flower floating in tea.

Today’s story holds yesterday close to its heart, Blessing, thanking, adding its own ideas While sipping the tea that yesterday bought To stuff pretty, shiny canister with morning delight. Today’s story stretches, reaches for the sky While smiling at the birds still riding thermals, Now and again glancing down at earthbound woman Watching them arc the dance they’ve always done Together and alone, like the stories she writes With or without her muse, tea, and words.