Tea in Paris

Sipping the delicate nectar
as herbs gently lift
To my nose,
Lavender and bergamot,
Mint and lemongrass,
Scenes on the water
Tower reflected.
Music from a distant window
Traffic rushes by
Sun gentle on my brow
Closing my eyes
Enjoying this tea in Paris.
I think of things most loved,
Beautiful art,
A smile unexpected,
A hug from friends and love,
Yes love most importantly
Never forgotten.
The bread warm from the oven
Sits resting nearby,
Clothes on the line drying
In the afternoon sun,
Pine rich floors cleaned
To a glistening shine,
Carpets fresh
And wood cut for fire,
Sunday work set aside
Sipping tea in Paris
Sweet memories of a day
That has not happened yet,
Just sweet daydreams
To pass the time
Sitting home in my chair
Tea cool beside me,
Home sweet home
Filled with dreams
In my mind.
But the tea is most lovely
None the less,
Come, I’ll pour you a cup,
We can dream together
Of far away places,
Imagining what we would do and see,
Would you join me?
I have more water brewed,
Patiently waiting
To see you soon.

Her gentle fall

Holding hands out
Catching leaves like rain,
She knows this season
Of her heart
The settling in
The cool air flecked with dew,
She embraces the change
As it must be
As a part of the seasons
Of her life.
She leans against the bark
Grown through years strong
When she feels so small
Amongst it all,
The sky
The days growing darker
She breathes the air
And knows the calm
Of the death of leaves
Spent at her feet.
She counts them like stars
One two three
And loses track as they fall too fast
And knows that it must be this way
Till none remain.
She stands still as the breeze moves them all
Whirling dance of red orange brown
Crackling their goodbye
As they move farther away.
She learns to love these days
As they too will not last,
The winter will come
And then spring
Bursting forth once more the green
Cycles of her land
That she is a tiny piece
Of the universe
And this is what must be.

Photo: Chen Wei