Sunny Saturday Memories

I tend to be somewhat of a privacy freak. Changing my name and the names of others all the time. Going through some old writings, I found this short story. And well, I didn't have the heart to change the names. Names have power and I feel this piece would lose some of it's power with false names. So there you have it. :)

This is a true memory. Many memories merged into one glorious, magical truth.

tea time by kijjet on Polyvore.com

TEA AT LAURETTE’S

The notes of the chimes danced across her face. Fast and slow, high and low. Amy loved the oddness of it. The chimes were huge. They were a presence hanging in the corner of the dinning room. There was no wind here to make them dance. If taken out of context, they would seem odd. They weren’t. It was grounding. Reassuring to know they were always there. She walked past them and let the light from the windows pass over her as she walked into the kitchen. Laurette was there, sunny like the energy you’d expect in a kitchen. Smiling and barefoot, she put the tea kettle on the stove and stirred the soup. Amy leaned against the counter watching her. How beautiful she was, Amy thought. The type of beautiful you couldn’t put your finger on. The type of beautiful that swayed in and out of focus.

Tea at Laurette’s was medicine. In fact, it was the only medicine that seemed to work. It was Amy’s oasis from college life. It was the promise that life could and would be different. The tea kettle sang it’s usual song and Laurette danced her usual dance, spinning and turning and reaching in cupboards. She mixed different types of tea in the diffuser with the grace and wisdom of the medicine woman she was.

Amy took her spot in the dinning room, making sure she was in eye sight of the grand chimes, and waited patiently for the ritual to begin. Lentil soup in big, heavy bowls blessed with fresh oregano and plenty of pepper. Hemp bread neatly set to the side, waiting patiently for its immersion. And tea, hearty mugs of tea, mystical patterns forming in its steam. It wasn’t a purposeful ritual, just two women have soup and tea. But to Amy it was everything. It was where everything and nothing was discussed in the same breath. It was the start, where she first learned of connectedness. The first place where magic didn’t seem so far away.