Tea, in the Amber Light

—Tea, in the Amber Light—

On the surface of steaming tea, a small universe is always swaying. Every time I tilt the cup, the amber liquid ripples softly, catching the light and shimmering warmly. As I gaze at that color, time seems to loosen just a little, and even the hardened feelings deep within my chest seem to melt away.

The scent of tea gently brushes against memories of distant seasons. The soft afternoon sunlight, the swaying of curtains by the window, the scent of a breeze that suddenly blew in. Fragments of forgotten scenery quietly emerge, illuminated by the amber light. When I take a sip, a calm depth that is neither sweet nor bitter spreads out, and my heart slowly settles.

They say the color of amber is a crystal of memories that an old tree has embraced over a long period of time. Thinking of that stillness, I feel as though invisible time is dissolved into a single cup of tea. The long journey from the moment the dew-covered leaves are plucked, dried, and imbued with fragrance. All of that is hidden within the swaying of this amber.

Today, too, I wrap both hands around the cup and gently peer into the amber light. Every time I breathe, warmth fills the depths of my heart. For me, tea is like a small rest note in the middle of the day. A gentle drop of amber that quietly stays by my side and softly unties my heart.
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