Wendy Jensen
I don't necessarily like the taste of tea.
It's the enforced break from my rushing inner world
that rewards.
Once the tea has steeped
the short window of time
between scalding
and tepid
invites timely reflection.
Holding nearly boiling water to my lips
requires focus
away from the computer's ever-present
allure.
So I sit
hot cup in hand
lifting the painted china
sipping
feeling the warmth
trickle down
into my innards.
My thoughts calm their ceaseless swirling.
I admire the deep color
leaching from the tea bag.
The silent sun
reflecting in
from the snowy trees outside.
I tip up my eyes
from the teacup
noticing the last clinging dried leaves
on the branches outside
bowed down with their bright layer of ice.
I breathe in deeply
smelling the lemony herbs
from my cup
its steam briefly
fogging my glasses.
I smell woodlands
damp and earthy
the scent carried in from this morning's snowshoe hike
lifting off my clothes
as they dry by the fire.
My mind rests quietly
in the present
like a bird perched
on my hand.
I sit still
fearing any motion
or stray thought
might scare her away
in a puff of feathers.
Another sip
and my muscles release tension
from that last clamber
up the snowy hill
back onto my street.
Remembering the fog of breath
bursting from my neck gaiter
to glaze my glasses.
Coating from steam
or from warm breath
both fade quickly
leaving me clear-eyed.
Ready to continue my day.
But now with a finger
on the pulse
of the present moment.
Wendy Jensen
I grew up in three different countries, landing finally in New Hampshire to practice homeopathic veterinary medicine, play violin, and raise my children. My writing has appeared in the Tiny Seed Journal as well as numerous homeopathy journals. My experiences as a veterinarian, an advocate at my local crisis center, and a researcher at an animal rights organization all come together to inform my work.