The teapot had been a great surprise: it came from her aunt, who had never given her a present in her life. She unwrapped it with great care, unrolling layer and layer of bubble wrap, until finally she came upon the teapot, like a pearl in an oyster. It was all glass, and as she washed it, she thought of how it would sustain her through the winter, how she would pour the boiling water in and watch the miracle of brewing unfurl as the herbs dyed the water greens and reds and blacks. When she was done with the pot and its lid, she washed the infuser, a glass cylinder that sat in the pot and demurely held the tea so it didn’t drift into the water. When it was clean, she sat it on the counter, and as she turned away to squeeze out the sponge and wipe off the edge of the sink, the infuser toppled quietly over and rolled off the counter, shattering into a million pieces on the tiled kitchen floor.
Posts
