The origin of tea began, it is said, when Daruma, a Buddhist saint, irresponsibly fell asleep over his devotions, and, upon awakening, was so distraught that he cut off his eyelids and threw them to the ground where they took root and grew up as a bush, the leaves of which, when dried and infused in hot water, produced a beverage that would banish sleep.
It would take a lot more than the thought of cut-off eyelids to put me off my first hot cup of tea of the day taken by the window overlooking the river when it is shrouded in early-morning mist. A Chinese watercolour in motion!
Last night I slept in front of the fireplace which is the nicest possible thing to do. I can't image that somebody could go through life without ever having roasted chestnuts or prodded glowing coal or made dream pictures in flames or listened to the fire sounds - the crackling and the hissing and the sighing and strange whimpering of a knotted log - or just dozed off in front of a fire.
Winter at "Riverbend" is a time of hibernation, of introspection. Of watching DVDs, reading books, playing chess - a time for every purpose under heaven, according to Ecclesiastes.
Right on cue, it's raining - which is sort of defrosted snow ☺ - which calls for something indoorsy, so we're going to the Diggers Rest Tavern at Mogo to listen to the old folks of the Old Gold Folk Club.
I may even join in and regale them with the Horst Wessel Lied on my button accordion. (Only kidding! I prefer Rommel's Panzerlied ☺ )
