Sunny Sunday

It wasn’t easy getting up this morning. I heard Mum come and go in the house, but I didn’t really fancy facing her over the breakfast table. I closed my eyes again. Just like every other morning she was making her jasmine tea, its flowery scent wafting up to my bedroom. Half-asleep, half-awake I let myself drift away with that Oriental perfume, opening my senses and my imagination. I shared a cup of scalding hot tea with Sorhavardi, whose teachings are dear to me, and our looks crossed, like two accomplices. Our gestures had the peaceful slowness of a light ceremony celebrating the peace of the present moment.I told myself that this dream was a good omen, and finally got up. There was a surprise waiting for me in the kitchen: Mum’s smile, with a look that was less distant that enveloped me in a tender silence. She had made scones, and taken out the Sunday china. She hadn’t done that in ages. I enjoyed the moment without asking any questions, cuddling her softly so as to not break the spell.This morning I had some tea with Sorhavardi and Mum.I headed off to the Pykes’ with a light heart.