They arrive, their cheeks flushed. . .
 |
| Tony |
after dancing through snowy landscapes
 |
| Tish |
and trekking up the slippery path to the cabin.
 |
| Tim |
it is warm inside.
i have been tending the fire since early morning.
 |
| Simon |
i help them off with boots, coats, scarves, mittens
and ask them to choose a bowl . . .
 |
| Nyx |
then we sit, face to face
 |
| Shira |
as i pour tea
 |
| Monel |
and we drink
looking into each others' eyes,
 |
| Meara |
sharing a few moments.
 |
| Karen |
We are surrounded by images of other hands
from previous encounters
each pair of hands holding a bowl.
 |
| Daniel |
And we listen to their stories
and to the sound of tea being poured.
 |
| Julia |
We talk of tea memories,
of those we've shared tea with
mothers, fathers, lovers, aunts, grandparents. . .
 |
| Judy |
of those who came from other lands. . .
from Ireland, England, Russia, Korea, Azerbajian . . .
where tea time was precious . . .
 |
| Hilary |
a time to connect
a time to relax
a time to share the day
to laugh, to cry, to comfort, to celebrate . . .
 |
| Gary |
nineteen people
five minutes with each.
 |
| David |
a brief connection. . .
but each one profound.
 | |||
| Avi |
and as each person moves on.
they leave behind a trace,
a memory,
a bit of themselves
 |
| Davi |
that i continue to carry
into the day,
into this day.
each person,
each encounter,
so very precious. . .
and still very much alive
in this heart.
