"A blog is to a writer what a canvas is to an artist." ~ Colleen Redman

The Thrill of Daffodil – The Poetry of Tea

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I told my friend Katherine that I’d bring flowers to our neighborhood Poet Tea for Easter brunch, but my purple crocus was too short-stemmed and my daffodils hadn’t opened up yet.  I considered buying an Easter lily at the grocery store.  I grew up having lilies at Easter time, and they smell so good.  But I don’t wear an Easter bonnet anymore and Easter lilies don’t grow here, at least not at this time of year, so I settled on some potted miniature daffodils.  Our friend Jayn came through with a bouquet of the freshly picked flowers (see HERE), so the ceremonious atmosphere was guaranteed to be cheery.

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Rumi and daffodils go well together. So does savory haiku and sips of poetic brew, black tea with lichee fruit, paired with orange croissant French toast, made by our host.

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One of the reasons I wanted to do a day trip with Joe to Primland Resort on Easter Monday was to see their lobby flower display because this time of year I’m desperate for flowers.

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After a swim in the heated infinity pool, I stretched out in a lounge chair in my plush Primland robe, enjoying the piped in relaxation music and taking in the mountain view from a row of large paneled windows.  The view looked out onto the mountains, a trail and the golf course.  “The golf channel is on,” I joked to Joe when some golf carts pulled up.  He read as I worked up and appetite, watching a cloud that looked like a buffalo float across the sky, to sound of a Native American flute and drum beat.

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The burgers at the Primland Pub are better than 5 Guys.   Between that, roasted asparagus and the IPA on tap, I was in heaven.  After lunch we explored the grounds and took some time to sit in the sun on the deck.  It was about that time that I had a thought about dessert.  Soon after, we stumbled upon a high tea in the lobby.  More heaven: Earl grey tea and marzipan cookies.

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We settled in comfy chairs with books in our laps: his on tree houses and mine on the history of art.

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On the way down the mountain, we pulled over for a view, highlighted by a naturalized cropping of daffodils.  “My favorite centerfold,” I would later tag the picture.

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I was so satisfied that I skipped supper entirely and didn’t eat again till the next morning, when I woke up and noticed the first daffodil had bloomed in one of my gardens, the same one that prompted this poem last year:  Slumped over beauty / Blonde headed lovely / Ahead of her time / in a crowd of closed minds.

– More on Our World Tuesday HERE.

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