this feeling calls for tea

The February air has been unkind in ways those who sit in longing during winter only know — I look outside and on every street, there are piles of snow shooting towards the sky and back again. I can't see the stars at night because they hide behind clouds and I can't feel the sun during the day because winter has settled in. Year after year, I live through these times and yet I have never been known to welcome them or expect their length of stay. What can one do when hibernation is not an option and we must go on living? I say, drink more tea.

_

I was going to put on the warmest socks made of wool that I own and run into the woods for photographs, but as soon as I left the front door and began my walk through that brisk and stormy February, I could feel my cheeks saying no to the chill and I knew it'd be better to stay home. So, in lieu of regular woods wandering, I wanted to share what I got up to instead. These teas are from The Watered Leaf by route of Edmonton, only three hours away from my doorstep, and each sip has its own way of saying "You will survive this."

I don't know what it is about tea, but hearing our kettle coo and then feeling my hands go warm as I grasp for a cup of flowers makes winter feel far away, even if it is only until the pot is empty. I grew up drinking those simple bags of store bought tea, but once you have tasted tea made with care, dipped with petals and plants, winter wears an armor of its own.

I wonder how many more kettle coos until I reach that garden..

Teas from the watered leaf, pressed flowers from last summer's garden

Follow