Grey Sky, Black Tea

Grey Sky, Black Tea

By Abel Ashes (All rights reserved)

A whistling kettle floods a terracotta mug drowning a paper packet stuffed with shredded tea leaves blackened by oxidation, oxidized by time.
Oil of bergamot gently permeates the air with its scent like a benign bio-weapon of citric origin.
The windows are painted on the edges and spotted with the raindrops of many moons spun around the Earth.
The transparent panes of heat-modified sand reveal a sky as grey as laundry lint cracked like abandoned warehouse windows by the sun-searching branches of trees stripped naked by the winter episode of the annual drama of the cycle of the seasons.
Rain soaked roofs resemble Egyptian pyramids constructed of soggy molding graham crackers as dew drops cluster on the bonsai appendages of a botanical dwarf, waiting to drop and splatter like over ripe plums, juicy and fermented in their seniority.

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