A fancy tea set sits in front of me, Dilmah tea in a little white tea pot with it's own tray, a little dish for the used swanky triangular teabag and a glass cup resting on a painted ceramic saucer. For 'natural goodness' a small resin block containing three timers; herbal, weak black and strong black brewed tea. A great contrast to the plastic baggies of lollies and tattered flyers resting on the cafe's main desk. This soothing tea is greatly needed, the Atomic coffee I have so mused on too strong for my body at the moment. A sore throat, mouth from a constant wash of bile is the least of my ills but something I can cure with a couple of cups of hot tea.
Twitching my shoulders in a vain attempt to relieve the cramps forming there, I turn my attention to the cloudy sky with it's milky white blur reminiscent of a cataract-covered eye. Yet rain is a doubt in my mind, the neighboring river is not rushing, awash with the trickled remains of drizzle on the towering snow-capped mountains. Perhaps tonight, when I am snug in a cloud of fluffed duvet and furry faux mink blanket the rain will come.
First a few tinkling drops will chime on the roof, followed by a thundering roar that will gradually slow to the soft drumbeat of a storm that has not intention of stopping any time soon. The tattoo of raindrops on the roof will wash away my thoughts until I am a floating being of sounds and warmth drifting off to sleep.
With a mental shake I wake my self from this meditative fantasy and drink the cooled remains of my tea. I have chores to attend to, lectures to watch and bread to bake despite my weary aching body and drowsy mind. Yet I can't but help wanting the rainy night to come that bit sooner for you don't feel anything in that comfortable oblivion.
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