TEAHOUSE

Me_cafe_rougeby Jake Murray30 Aug 2015

TEAHOUSE

The hot mists of the morning
Rise from the lake in the mountains.
Green leaves, ripe and oily dip
In the early rain. The sky can be seen,
Swathed in clouds, from the earth. Birds,
Like splashes of colour, cry from the
Undergrowth, bright plumes appearing
And disappearing in the
Shadows.

By the water, a wooden
House sits. Duckboards snake beside
The ripples from the cool wetness
Of the waves. No-one is speaking,
But someone is waiting, sat cross-
Legged by the doorway, a mat
Beneath his knees. He greets you,
Smiles and lifts his head to draw
You into the chamber;
On the floor,
China cups in blue and white; beside
Them, the greenest tea.