In the morning, getting up for a drink of water,
I walk on top of clean clothes I’ve dumped on the bedroom floor.
Notice bath tub is clogged again, ring of grey soap colors the bottom of the tub.
Grab purple silk robe my mother used to wear, slip arms into armholes (it trails behind me delightfully).
Walk through living room, watch for the hummingbird that stalks the sunflowers I’ve set on the wide windowsill.
Kitchen gets a sweep. Set the cast iron pan over a burner, cut on the flame with a click click.
Run hands over velvet green basil cut from garden I keep in an old mayonnaise jar with water.
Rotate spindle white cosmo in its thin necked bottle, the one on the windowsill by the sink, observing ghostly new roots shift slightly in greenish water.
Pick rocks tracked in from yesterdays boots off of the wood floor.
Crack blue eggs into black pan with a swirl of olive oil, setting another pan on top because who knows where all of my pan covers have gone.
In the front yard I know female cardinals set on branches of leafed-out cherry tree, their chirps kick and twirl. Crickets too, they stumble over grass, whistling for lovers.
Out there the arugula has gone to seed in the raised beds, tall and yellow and knocked over by the last storm.
Teardrop red tomatoes wind up a bamboo teepee.
Honeybees weight down sticky calendula and purple mint with flowers soft as cats tails.
In the afternoon, light shifts to blue gold, shadows of leaves wave over the floors like lilies in water.
The mail arrives.
I close my book to eat a popsicle on the front stoop.
6:00 pm frying onions, massaging a mound of curling kale with lemon juice that stings a cut in my hand I didn’t know was there.
In the back yard, celosia takes on the evenings soft purples transforming into gently mauve mustaches, drunkenly rocking in the breeze.
A sip of hibiscus iced tea.
Watching sky turn the color of unspilled blood — navy darkness —
my breath lengthens.
In many ways, I came here today to talk about what happened in Charlottesville (my hometown) this past weekend. But when I sat down to write, all that came out of me was poetry. Poetry about the pain, the sadness, the situation. I’ll have to share that at a later date. I shared a lot about the situation already on Instagram stories. Most of the week has been spent talking with friends and family about it. For today, I hope you got some peace from the poem I shared, a loose association of images from recent days.
Days lately have somehow felt both long and short, filled to the brim and yet hollow. Days spent behind a screen instead of hiking up mountains. The mind knows there’s work being done. The body doesn’t.
This hibiscus rose iced tea is a bevy of beauty, made with the intention of calming my nervous system down after this weeks traumatic events. And hopefully yours too.
It’s an iced hibiscus tea with rose, fresh mint, fresh calendula, a little bit of lemon juice and peaches — sweetened with honey. I added turmeric extract to help me feel a bit better from grinding my teeth (it’s worse when I’m feeling overwhelmed). And some ashwagandha tincture to help me combat the effects of stress. I made some edible flower ice cubes (water + fresh mint + cornflowers) for the iced tea pictured, which is fun for presentation but a bit of a mess in practice. Although personally I have no problem sipping whole cornflowers as they’re pretty soft and minuscule anyway.
In this recipe you could just use rose petals or I personally really like subbing out Mountain Rose Herbs Love Tea (rose, cinnamon chips, cacao nibs, orange zest) instead of pure rose. It’s one of my favorite teas ever. It smells like a bourgeoisie fairy tea party.
I used fresh mint and fresh calendula from my garden. If you can’t get fresh, do 1/2 teaspoon each of dried.
This post was sponsored by Mountain Rose Herbs. They’re hosting an End of Summer Sale offering 20% off customer favorites! Including the turmeric extract, ashwagandha tincture, celestial tea strainer, and Love Tea featured in this post. Sale runs through August 27th 2017. All words, wanderings, opinions and mystical yawps are my own.