Leaves [gxg]

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The curling trail of steam that rises from the spout of a well-used, beloved kettle. The smell of water, heated to boiling, pervading the air. A stout handle attached to the kettle, cloth wrapped around it to save an eager hand from burning. Water poured into the tea pot, where leaves of tea awaited to receive the water, ready to infuse that water with the precious taste that the leaves had held within them since the day nimble fingers had picked them from stalks in some far away field.

A cup, cleaned and empty. Sat upon a corresponding saucer. After several minutes, not too many, not too few, the infused water is then poured out into the cup, the liquid, tinged with colour, now, skipping up the sides, falling back, mixing and flowing with more of the water, filling the cup to a little below the lip.

A little milk, added after the water, trickles in, creating a line that circles around, moved by the heat excited liquid, until it meets itself, becoming a tiny galaxy, turning and turning until it makes the liquid become a mouthwatering brown. A little spoon, stirred within the cup, trying so very hard not to touch the sides, or the bottom, as both liquids, milk and infused water, combine into that most delicious of beverages.

Tea.

Beautiful, wonderful, refreshing tea. If there truly were any gods, then tea, for certain, would prove evidence enough for their existence. No other drink came close. Folks could drink their coffees and their cocoas and anything else they could think of, but, deep in their hearts, they would know that those beverages were mere pretenders to the throne.

River May Dorsey lifted the cup from the saucer and breathed in the bitter smell from within. She had found this particular leaf online. A passing mention of a tiny estate on an easily missed island off the coast of India had led her to find this tea. It had taken some research, more than a few phone calls but, after long days of waiting, the box of tea had arrived.

This was the first cup made from that tea and she found it intoxicating. A smell that had a hint of mint to it, but bitter all the same. Once brewed, that smell had become even more pronounced and, now, she had the opportunity, nay, the privilege to imbibe it.

Taking several deep breaths, she lifted the cup and leaned forward, her lips meeting the porcelain, parting only a shade wider as she tipped the cup, allowing the liquid to trickle over them, past her teeth to dance their waltz of sensory pleasure upon her tongue. She didn't swallow it straight away, of course.

No, she allowed the tea to sit upon her tongue for a few seconds, passing across the soft surface, tingling her sense of taste, before she swilled the tea around her mouth. Then, and only then, did she allow the liquid to pass from her mouth and down, into her awaiting stomach. She took a few seconds to understand the feelings this new tea brought to her.

Nodding, she returned the cup to the saucer, picked up the pen from on top of the notebook and wrote down her initial thoughts. She had to ensure that she tasted every tea that she found. Every blend. Every leaf. Even those foul generic teas made for consumption by those people that had no understanding of the beauty of tea. Those people that microwaved their water. That thought tepid water with some lab created taste were 'teas'. Those things besmirched the very word.

This leaf, however, had shown itself as one of the most sublime leaves she had ever tasted. That taste did not wear out its welcome, passing in the right amount of time, ready for the next sip to recall that evocative taste once more.

At this time of night, River had few customers, though she kept the doors open, regardless. It allowed her the time to sample her teas, both old and new, without the distraction of people asking for 'strawberry cupcake' flavour tea. Yes, she sold that kind of thing, but hated it with a passion.

Looking at the Art Nouveau clock upon the wall, she realised she only had a few minutes before one of her regular customers may chance by. Her shop, 'Leaves', had a small cache of regular customers and she loved them all dearly. Like the group of Ladies of Lavender, that congregated within the small shop every Tuesday afternoon. There to gossip and reminisce and make bawdy jokes River would never expect of women their age.

There were the Bohemian types, the Hippy types, that her parents would have deeply loved to have met, the Trendies and the loners. Her customer base had a very wide, very diverse field and she loved that tea could bring together such disparate peoples. But, one customer she held dear to her heart more than any other.

The first customer that River had welcomed through the doors. The one customer that had patronised her little shop at least once a week, every week. More often, more than once a week, though River didn't like to push fate into thinking that should stop. Fate had that fickle nature about it. A perverse desire to ruin people's happiness at the click of a celestial finger. She tapped her head and thought 'touch wood' as she did so.

Moving back behind the counter, she gave a little yelp and a jump as she realised that she had left the cup and saucer, and her pen and notepad on one of the few tables in the shop. Trying to rush back around the counter, she caught her skirt on an errant splinter of wood. Widening her mouth in an impotent, silent scream, she tugged and teased, trying to dislodge the material.

"Do you need a hand?" That gentle voice, River knew so well, caused her to jump, once again, and she heard a tiny rip as the her skirt detached from the splinter. "Ah, not now, you don't."

Brushing her hair from her face, falling despite several pins and a clasp, designed so that her hair didn't become an unruly ball of mousey brown fur, River adjusted her glasses and leaned her hand against the counter, trying to look relaxed. The starched grin upon her face betrayed her as she tried to stop her legs trembling.

A little taller than River, the woman had an air about her that screamed sophistication. From the camel hair coat that seemed tailored to her body, falling from shoulders that curved in such a pleasing manner, to the black flannel trousers, the flare at the bottom perfectly chosen to accentuate her perfect feet, dressed in strappy shoes that had heels neither too tall, nor too short. This woman looked the epitome of style. At least to River's eyes.

"Ah. No. It was a splinter. Caught my skirt." She balled her fist and shook it towards where the splinter peeked out from the wood of the counter, taunting her. "Grrr. Bad splinter!"

"I see." The woman, Celeste, turned away, hiding a little smile that River didn't mind seeing, even though it was at her expense. She sat at her favourite table, by the window. "What do you recommend for tonight? I feel like trying something different."

"I've just got a new leaf in. It's from an Indian estate." Rolling her eyes at her foolishness, River had to set that record straight. "Well, not an Indian estate. It's from an island off the coast of India that may, or may not, be part of India and I think I'm rambling. Am I rambling? Should I stop rambling? Maybe I should take a vow of silence?"

She pretended to zip her mouth closed, pursing her lips tight. Then she mimed locking her mouth. Then she mimed throwing away the key. Before she could start miming looking around for that key and throwing her arms up in mock surrender, she caught herself and stepped behind the counter.

She did this all the time. Made an absolute fool of herself in front of people. Especially those people she liked. Especially this one person she liked. It was as though she had made it her lifetime goal to embarrass herself at every opportunity and, like an addict, continued to do so long after it stopped feeling fun.

"Why don't you choose for me? Give me a surprise." Celeste smiled again, but the smile seemed a little strained. She leaned back on the chair, crossing her legs in such a graceful manner. "Lord knows, I could use a nice surprise today."

"Oh? Has something happened?" River moved out from behind the counter resting her hands upon the chair back, opposite from Celeste. "Would you like to talk about it? I'm a good listener. Well, when I'm not talking too much. Like now. I'm talking too much now. Sorry."

"Well, I've just, kind of, quit my job." Looking down at her hand, Celeste rubbed her knuckles. They looked a little red. "By punching my lecherous boss in the face."

River's jaw dropped, but Celeste laughed. A laugh that petered out, leaving the woman looking sad and bereft.

This required tea. And lots of it.