When you are dazed
in your shadows of jasmine;
how can you tell the tea leaves
to settle to telltales?
how can you trust tea leaves
to know about parting.
That leaf you are asking
was once carefully hand picked
by a peasant woman
with wells in her eyes,
a woman shawled in the morning –
mist mourning her daughter.
That leaf that she rolled
between her thorn-pricked
fingers and sunset,
dazed in a Darjeeling evening,
How could that leaf you are asking
know about you or his leaving?
The Cup – Adolf de Meyer (1912)
Linked up late to Kerry’s picture prompt at toads. I will link up to Tuesday platform as well.
—-
May 7, 2018
Björn Rudbergs writings 
LOVE this, Björn! Not only did you conjure some wonderful imagery here, but you’ve also raised an age-old question. How *can* the the leaves tell us anything?
Brilliant! The tea leaves may not know the story of who is leaving – but they do tell the story of the vast disparity in the lives of the ‘have’s’ and the ‘havenot’s’. You have painted the scene that back lights this piece, beautifully, Björn.
A wonderful portrail, Bjorn! Filled with longing and a certain mystery.
This is so good, Bjorn. Like Frank, I would say it’s full of mystery. Leaves, leaving….
I can wonder too, how do the tea leaves get to
know answers to all our questions. Faking it?
Perhaps, the leaves are just really good at reading “us”.
how can you trust tea leaves
to know about parting…. beautiful Bjorn.. when you see the mist roll in over the gorgeous hills of Darjeeling, you will believe anything though..a fabulous town.
A place I only know through pictures and film… (and the name of a tea)…
Worth a visit sometime! The old steam train still chugs through the hills…
My goodness this is sooo beautiful .. you had me at the title itself!💜 Love “how can you tell the tea leaves
to settle to telltales? how can you trust tea leaves to know about parting.”💜
“hand picked
by a peasant woman
with wells in her eyes”
“between her thorn-pricked
fingers and sunset”
So gorgeous.
This is superb, Bjorn. I love your description of the tea picker – it truly transported me, and made your question all the more relevant.
It couldn’t, and doesn’t, but we can’t stop ourselves asking the unanswerable anyway.
Luv your eloquence. Touch of mystery. And hints at sadness
Nice one Bjorn
Much🌼love
How can the leaves truly know? The tea picker wrapped in the morning mist mourning her daughter…you have made the tea picker real and human. From a peasant to a woman of privilege to the southeast leaves. Beautifully painted.
Wow, this is incredibly well written!
This is beautiful, Bjorn.
Wonderful, thought provoking and lovely Bjorn!!
That leaf that she rolled
between her thorn-pricked
fingers and sunset,
dazed in a Darjeeling evening,…..beautiful…….mystery, secrets and sadness beautifully woven together…!
‘That leaf you are asking
was once carefully hand picked
by a peasant woman
with wells in her eyes,
a woman shawled in the morning –
mist mourning her daughter’
.
Beautiful, Bjorn!
Now I want to know everything about the harvester, how she feels when she’s doing the work, whether or not she ever wonders about the people who will sip tranquility through her labor… Love the story within the story.