Tea With Me
2nd February, 2025 Sunday
White windowed veiw as snow weighted branches weakened. Crack. And another crack. Billowed ground cloaked in too early wintered sleep.
It was the day before Vote of 2024 tallied the bending of our fragile coalescence. Hope was in our Hearts that what we knew would come with that Thing and all he trailed would slink back deep in the recesses of our historical denial never to have hold enough to strangle off that Hope for our Better Angels’ continued reach for all we know to be the Good in us.
This white bitter frigid wet day was the last of warm Hope.
Autumn in our land is the bedding of the born gift of last season’s sustenance. This day of Cold came too early for the finish of nature’s bedtime. The leaves of summer had not been released from the filagreed fingers of of their birthing branches. Not yet, deep winter’s grip, please not yet.
As we watched the next night for the validation that Our Hope was in enough of us to stamp the frigid predatory march of greed, inhumanity, and dishonesty, the chill entered our Hope.
We woke Frozen. Despair seeped through every aspect of what we hold so Dear.
And through the next few hours the registration of the lack of knowledge which had crept through all those of us who could not see the Danger to us all in what the Voted for was to bring brought terror in our Hearts.
Questions about how brought numbers of the sheer volume of those who did not care to come to save Hope. 10.3 million who had come to cast for Hope 4 years before in the Viral Fear Cloud had not come in 2024.
A dimmed and secretive Thanksgiving forced my three weeked blocked tears. The weeping swept me clean of that which had not happened and the march to only couple Christmas mandated draw of Love. Tree and Garland and Light, packages of Love sent and recieved, envelopes of Loving wishes from freinds and family scattered along the trail of my randomly trodden past. The Spirits of those I spent this yearly moment came from the other side to brush the memories they carry across my inner aging canvas of my Now, this Christmas.
The Quiet of that sheltered week to the arrival of 2025 could not muster in my Heart the cliche of Happyfor 2025. No, it is a Readying I felt. The Ride of how to Save what may be damaged in what this Dark comes to shatter.
So now after two weeks of the Inaugurated Horror’s vomits of unqualified appointees, ICE Raids, threatened strangling tarriffs,and oh so much more shit, the price of eggs is still untouched.
He could not ban Federal Loans and Grants. Yes, one wall buffeted that unconcionable attack.
This morning as I sipped my tea and waited for the dogs to pee and poo in my sheltering front courtyard in early dawn, the coming light sifting through this dawn’s clouds silhouetted the shriveled forms of last year’s unshed leaves still clinging to the filagree fingers of my courtyard trees.
In them is my own unshed Hope. My Frozen Hope, refusing to leave my fillagree of clinging fingers, waiting for the Spring to sprout whatever leaves of Hope I can sustain through all the Frigid Hate of the coming 4 years.
Tea was Green
Ta.
Tea With Me 