A green tea plant,
shade grown, emerald beauty.
The calming energy flows through its veins,
water droplets hang on its almond-shaped leaves. Hand
picked and placed neatly in a woven basket by fingers of a wrinkled Japanese man. 

He places them, one by one, in neat rows on bamboo mats.
They dry slowly in the shade...never to see the sun.
Droplets leave the leaves. Shriveled,
weak, and brittle, they
become.

The stone grinder turns in the hands of the man. Pressing, pushing, plunging,
leaves give in with a crunch, creating a soft sweet powder. Gather the powder,
check the consistency, ensure perfection. His fingers, now green and powdery,
pack a scoop of the emerald green soft powder in hand-painted tin cans to sell.
He ties each can with twine, sealing them with a gold sticker in shape of a teapot.

His fingers sting and numb as he ties the bow on the last tin of tea. Shriveled, weak, and brittle, he becomes. He slides to the floor limp (with tin in hand). He awakes in white sheets to the beeping of a monitor. He looks up and see’s his granddaughter still dressed in silk kimono from tea ceremony class. Her pale face makes him crack a smile. He stretches his arm out and with a deep breath, gives her his last tin of emerald green tea. A single tear trails, staining her face as his hand falls limp. His body still, and motionless.

Kneeling (with tin in hand) she prepares for her tea ceremony test. Her layered silk kimono slightly ruffled. She whips the tea with a bamboo whisk. The calm, smooth, swirling liquid mimics a whirlpool. Steam billows from the bamboo bowl greeting her face, forming clouds with familiar faces. At the end, she tastes. The warm tea touches her lips. She smiles, remembering the wrinkled Japanese man. She stares down as a single tear slides from her cheek, dropping down to her emerald green tea.