I notice a ceiling spider watching me.
I make tea in the cherry-blossom pot.
I nap lightly in the sun-heated chair.
I dream clouds or wake to them.
Tea now as warm as this day.
Worked hard outside all day, then sat
with a cup of tea that she
brought with a madeleine cookie to remember
things past and talk of this present
and watch the sunset on her hair.
The sunset color of this morning’s tea
in its clear glass is a filter
where I can view this day’s end.
In oak, cedar and maple liquid hues,
I see early winter as autumn again.
In a steamy cloud, lotus flowers arrive.
Out of season, this cool autumn morning,
drinking these pink flowers I am momentarily
here and in your summer water garden.
My hand holding your hand and heat.
An autumn morning that feels like winter.
No bees, no flowers in my garden.
I add honey to my flowering tea.
Two million summer blooms yields a pound
of nectar – a few minutes of summer.