I’m sitting at a cafe drinking a tea called CPR

It’s nice-mild.

There are bright yellow flower buds floating around in the cloth.

Chamomile, peppermint, and rooibos.

Rooibos is my favorite.

I’m waiting here for no one but I still want to wait.

The wind chimes and dated music remind me of a time and place I never lived.

It is not bleak, but pleasantly solemn

I’m growing used to wind though I never cared for it much before

I’m beginning to feel it as weightless waves that serve to lift me rather than drown me.

I asked for honey in my tea which was unusual.

It doesn’t taste like homegrown honey.

Sugar is sweet but I can’t get the sweetness I yearn for. I guess I’ll just have to wait until spring.