Home, to me is a pot of tea. It’s amazing what is contained within that pot.
The quiet, fizzing thunder as it’s filled; The cosy slips noiselessly on and we wait. We wait for the magic to stir… for in the belly of that pot brews Welcome, Peace, Rest. The pot invites a slowing down, toward complete stillness… Here, we know that good things come to those who wait.
Home, to me is a pot of tea. It’s amazing what is contained within that pot.
Then comes the tumbling, bubbling pouring; Wisps or billows of steam issuing from the mug, depending on the weather. For everything about a cup of tea is adaptable to circumstance; It can warm chilly hands and heart or refresh you on a hot summer’s day or knit together nerves which are in tatters.
Home, to me is a pot of tea. It’s amazing what is contained within that pot.
In any other context the murky colour of black tea with milk would seem unpromising. But in the context of tea it promises much. A pot of tea is An Opportunity. A moment for daydreaming a kaleidoscope of wonders, for brewing a great project, or for sifting through the fiasco that just happened, or for unearthing pure gold from half forgotten landscapes. And the wonderful thing about a pot of tea is that all this can be done alone or with others.
Home, to me is a pot of tea. It’s amazing what is contained within that pot.
Once the pot is on the table before you, you aren’t going anywhere. And yet, there’s no stopping you.
la perle 
Love it! My kind of poem and subject!
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