![\"\"](\"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/7F2B2820-9670-4162-9CF9-D26515AFCBFD-293x300.jpeg\")
Seasons of Tea ~<\/p>\nSeasons of Tea ~<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Iced. With lemon, summer\u2019s flavour. Sometimes honey.<\/p>\n
And sometimes plain, hot as climate change.<\/p>\n
Rooibos, Darjeeling \u2013 taste of muscatel, they say.<\/p>\n
They\u2019re wrong. Unless it\u2019s a first flush private reserve.<\/p>\n
Dragon pearl \u2013 jasmine leaves rolled into perfect green<\/p>\n
globules of fragrance. Brew until liquid gold. Ice.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Hot. Lapsang Souchong, the drink of winter. Or mixed<\/p>\n
with the bergamot of Earl Grey, summer. Hot or iced.<\/p>\n
Hot with milk and sugar \u2013 Chinese Keemun. Ceylon,<\/p>\n
in its name the whispered sibilants of Orientalism & its<\/p>\n
colonial cousins. Assam, masala chai of spice & romance.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Iced. The fruit teas of the South: hibiscus, mango, apple.<\/p>\n
The digestif ginger, mixed with pepper to augment the bite.<\/p>\n
Thai iced tea, with boba \u2013 the bubbles of my childhood.<\/p>\n
Creamy vivid orange, nothing I can make at home.<\/p>\n
Hot. Verveine and linden flower, tisanes \u00e0 la Fran\u00e7ais.<\/p>\n
Verveine lemon verbena dressed in Chanel<\/em>. Each scoop magic.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The tray: one my mother-in-law\u2019s my 2nd<\/sup> mother, who never<\/em><\/p>\n had to love me<\/em>; one a sister gave me. One of wood and glass,<\/p>\n the centre embroidered by a friend I never saw again. Peter<\/p>\n Rabbit, his blue coat forever velvet. On it I place the teaset<\/p>\n I bought for my young sons, now the choice of grandsons.<\/p>\n Large pot, small pot. Creamers & sugars. Mugs, cups, saucers.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Cookies. A necessary element of the season of tea. Lemon bars<\/p>\n in warm weather, chocolate in fall. In the winter, scones laden<\/p>\n with cream & jam. At Christmas? Misshapen sugar cookies<\/p>\n torn from the mouths of metal cutters by hasty hungry hands.<\/p>\n The season of greed, of want, of tea and all its luxuries.<\/p>\n Its decadence.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Seasons of Tea ~ Iced. With lemon, summer\u2019s flavour. Sometimes honey. And sometimes plain, hot as climate change. Rooibos, Darjeeling \u2013 taste of muscatel, they say. They\u2019re wrong. Unless it\u2019s a first flush private reserve. Dragon pearl \u2013 jasmine leaves rolled into perfect green…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":68,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-67117","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/67117","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/68"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=67117"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/67117\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":67172,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/67117\/revisions\/67172"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=67117"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=67117"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=67117"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}