Lonely

Two lonely pots of bright yellow mums are all that’s left on the back deck this morning. Gerry is busy outside bringing in pots and mats and outdoor furniture. The season is changing and we’re inching toward waking up one morning to white—but not just yet. Please, not just yet.

There was a hard frost overnight, and the rooftops in our cul-de-sac were white when I woke this morning. We’re putting on sweaters, pulling on socks, and pushing our feet into shoes after months of flip-flop freedom.

I haven’t had coffee this morning and I have a headache. (I’m a little testy too, but we won’t get into that.). Instead of coffee, I’m enjoying a second mug of the now-defunct Teavana’s My Morning Maté, a blend of Yerba maté, black tea, and red rooibos flavoured with bits of sweet cocoa, chocolate and almond, pistachio nuts, macadamia nuts, and coriander rounded off with warm hazelnut and cinnamon. An acceptable substitution, except for the fact that Teavana doesn’t exist any more and the small bit I have left is all I’ll ever be able to get.

Research this morning pointed me to a Canadian company called Mateína  selling Yerba maté tea and I ordered some. There’s a whole thing around this tea about how to brew it and there’s even a special drinking gourd and stainless steel filtering straw called a bombilla but I skipped those upgrades for the time being.

So, here I am on this Tuesday that feels like a Monday morning, sipping my maté tea, looking at these lonely mums on the deck, and waiting. For what, I’m not quite sure, but it feels like a time of anticipation so I might as well embrae it.

Happy Mo-Tuesday, friends!

 

Thanks so much for stopping by. I'm here most mornings with a photo and a few words about ordinary extraordinary things and, sometimes, thin places where faith intersects.

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