A few weeks ago one awoke at the break of morning to little wet snowflakes that coated everything as they rode the light mountain winds to the ground. It was marvelous to embrace the red hot embers of the brazier so early this frigid morning and share tea with the first snowflakes of the year. They barely clung to their majestic, ice-crystallized form, dancing outside one's large windows before melting into the ground, quenching the dry winter's thirst.
As the seasons slowly change to winter, one usually migrates from loose leaf green tea and spring oolongs to yellow and black teas, as well as puerh. But the one thing that stays pretty much consistent, is one's consumption of matcha.
The three spur marks left on the rim of the foot almost resemble foot prints in the snow.