In the hush between palms,
steam pens its moist scripture—
a rising breath of verdant silence.
The bowl warms both hands,
like remembered embrace;
each sip, a slow return to cloister.
Tatami sighs beneath the robe’s rustle,
bamboo whisk murmurs devotion—
froth of impermanence, foamed time.
Outside a red leaf falls unseen,
its echo ripples through the tea;
its grace is placed unspoken,
its steeped peace, meant to cease.
Beautifully penned, S. Lovely write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
I love the whole ceremony of it. Preparing the tea.
It’s another form of artistic expression in my opinion.
We have a dojo where I work that was a gift from Japan.
We have a koi pond too. Yes, the fish are from Japan too.
It’s very peaceful. Even the pic!