Iced Tea
“Ice,” said the voice in my head as I glanced at the puddle. “Tea,” it said, noticing how the sticks intersected. I laughed out loud.
The labels go on and on and on, from the moment we learn the words. I suppose it keeps us anchored in the world somehow.
Then the words trigger memories and dreams. So although it is late January and I am standing in freezing rain, in my mind I am gazing at fields of tall, green corn on a hot, windless day in mid-July, and it is not rain but perspiration running down my cheeks, and I hear the tinkle of ice cubes in a tall glass of tea and smell lemon.
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Sweet as in tea, as in the message your words send to my heart, as in you…
Lovely to see you again, my friend. As always, your words bring a warm, deep smile.