In case you’re watching at home, here we got weather. Apparently we also have side effects of weather: Pierre and I are both independently posting about tea. Well, that’s what I get for larking around on Sunday morning to photograph The Gates in the snow, and then thumping around last night taking flash pictures in the nor’easter blizzard.
No idea how they’re going to turn out, but it’s a really fun thing to do. You get looks. “What’s he taking pictures of?” “I dunno. Snow I guess.” “In the dark? With a flash?”
My throat is tickly and my body is poised on that soft hyper-aware edge where you’re probably about to get sick but you aren’t quite there yet. The cough is occasional and has an angry red clawed sound, as if it’s raking old leaves around the larynx. There’s a light misting of sweat — the immune system testing the valves, priming the pumps, preparing to dump antimatter if the system goes off the rails.
Yogi Tea is my prophylaxis of choice, and I’ve been switching off between my favorite winter flavors. I reached for the tea stash after a particularly hacking round, tears in my eyes, and worked the controls (rip, dunk). When my vision cleared a bit the teabag tag was face up, and it reads:
The whole universe is the stage on which your mind dances with your body, guided by your heart.
I love Yogi Tea.