Series 4｜Morning Tea

The day has not asked anything of you yet.

Morning tea is not meant to wake you up.
It simply lets waking happen more slowly.

Before notification sounds appear.
Before the world remembers who you are.
There is a small stretch of time
when nothing needs to be done.

The kettle hums softly on the stove.
Not to sharpen your mind,
but to give your hands
a warmth they can rest in.

The cup feels different in the morning.
Lighter.
More forgiving.
It does not ask for your full attention—
only that you are here.

This is not a tea to be understood.
You don’t wonder which mountain it came from,
or how long it should steep.
You let it exist in its simplest form.
Because morning itself
is easily broken.

Morning tea does not prepare you for the world.
It simply allows you
to stay with yourself
a little longer.

You drink slowly,
not as an exercise in patience,
but because time
has not begun to run.

There is no conversation.
No ceremony.
Only steam rising gently,
and a day still unopened.

In these few minutes,
you do not need to be efficient.
You do not need to hurry.
You do not need to catch up.

You are simply sitting here.
The tea is still warm.