The Tea Post 8
Morning—
Quiet, quiet.
Everyone else in the house slumbers softly. Your feet brush across the gently creaking floor.
Early morning light filters through the shades, the sun barely born on the horizon. The smell of sea air. The cool lingering of night’s chill brushes over ankles and toes. The sound of the electric kettle heating water.
Nothing must be done yet. Nothing but savoring the chirp and trill of early rising birds.
Nothing calls for a book more.
Night settles.
All the world asleep. Outdoors is blanketed in starlight. The moon’s face glowing through the windows. Awake while the world slumbers. Curling up in the curve of an armchair. Books gleam in the lamplight, their titles singing stories and promises.
Nothing calls for a book more.
Spring
Outside, gray skies, soft light, and the patter of rain on the window. Glass panes are smudged with a thousand tears. Wind whispering and shaking the window frames. Bright green trees, glittering wet and swaying.
Inside, the couch is marshmallow soft, the pillows supportive. The air is crisp and fresh from the storm outside. A hot mug of tea steams in the soft candlelight.
Nothing calls for a book more.
Summer
Swimmers drowse by the lake. You swing in the hammock, lake water dried on your skin. Squirrels argue overhead. Pine needles sprinkle down. The air is warm, the breeze cool as its fingers thread through your damp hair. Sunlight dapples the pages of the open book in your lap.
Nothing calls for a book more.
Fall
Copper, red, and yellow crown the hills. Wet leaves crunch in gutters and slide, blown over sidewalks. You sit in the cafe, coffee, and confection at hand. The smells of roasted beans, of pumpkin, and cinnamon. A red silk ribbon across the cream-colored paper. The sky is heavy with clouds, but bright slashes of sunlight break through, igniting the trees.
Soft music plays among the murmur of voices. The murmur of plans and holidays a blurry backdrop.
Nothing calls for a book more.
Winter
White world. Blue skies the shade of shadowed ice. Frost decorates the windows; snow barricades the doors.
Happy days turn to happy nights.
The smells of chocolate linger in the air. Of roasted chestnuts, sharp pine, and berries. The glittering lights blinking from rooftops push back at the black of night, reflecting off the white world and echoing back at the stars in colorful patterns.
Music, laughter, and warmth soften to slumber.
The crackling of the fireplace. Soft, orange, and yellow light paint the room, swaying with the flicker of the flames.
Nothing calls for a book more.
