There we sat, drinking tea.
The Gardener poured with the most beautiful teapot, its white porcelain intricately painted with designs of flowers, much like the ones surrounding us. The tea trickled into a matching teacup, poised on a saucer painted identical. Our wicker chairs curved delicately in white hoops. At first glance they would seem uncomfortable, yet the woven bamboo seemed to wrap in such a way, perfect for each individual. One the table sat a colorful arrangement atop a white tablecloth. Soft petals of wildflowers filled a vase in the center, their perfume mixing with the sweet aroma of the treats that shared occupation of the table. Clear bowls of salted nuts and crystalized fruits sat at each end of the table. Shining trays held an assortment of delicately prepared sandwiches. Scones topped with jams and homemade marmalades sat on a smaller tray, its ends delicately welded into curved designs. Pitchers of lemonade, frosted with ice and sugar, with thinly sliced oranges, dripped cool condensation down their glassy sides.
The table of delicacies was not the only amazement. The garden alone was a wonder. Hidden away from the busy life of society sat the little greenhouse, cared for by The Gardener. The Gardener kept each of his flowerbeds pristine. He watered, trimmed, and nurtured his plants. A little pond was tucked away in a corner, built up by bricks and mortar. Goldfish swam lazily through the still water, weaving in and out of the shadows of the lily pads that rested atop. Vines grew up the glass sides of the greenhouse. Sunlight poured in, mixing with the various flowers and leaves. The colorful mixture shone as if we were surrounded by a thousand green kaleidoscopes.
Yet it was not either of my beautiful surroundings that caused my awe. The Gardener, even amidst all the flora and finery, stood out. He was a wise old man who had lived through many a summer, although no one knew exactly how many. He tottered about in denim clothing, the knees and pockets worn thin, taking delicate care of his prized plants. The Gardener was a puzzle or origins. His face was wrinkled, yet kind. His eyes were bright, yet wise. He never grumbled or complained at the dirt under his fingernails or at the snails that stole their way inside. He treated each creature that came, no matter the size or species, as an esteemed guest. No one knew when he first built his greenhouse. He was simply there, just as the trees in the forest were there, standing tall through any type of weather. The Gardener poured his love into his garden, just as the sun poured its light.
Here I was, seeming like an outcast surrounded by such finery and glory. Yet the Gardener sat with me; he spent time to know me and love me. Me, a stranger to him, treated like a long-lost friend. His smile gave comfort, his words gave support.
There we sat, drinking tea.
This piece was nominated as a "Writer's Pick" by a fellow writer on one of the writing sites I use. That only means that the young writers who use the site can see it, but just the fact someone found this piece good enough to nominate was so encouraging.
I was inspired by this piece by a prompt from the same site. The prompt was beginning a story with "There we sat, drinking tea," and ending it with "I smiled at my fish and went to sleep." I did not fully follow this prompt because the nature of this piece pushed through as I started writing. I don't really know where this idea originally came from, but the end result was a pleasant surprise.