This Saturday, I will be doing a tea reading at Victoria's beautiful Abkhazy Garden. While I won't actually be reading leaves in cups, I think writing is a similar profession. In the present, we look for the images that are maps of past and future. We too are gypsies, detched from our own reality, telling fortunes by interpreting patterns.
Someone from the Silk Road Tea Company will talk about the properties and history of tea, and I will read tea poems, songs and bits of prose, accompanied by my husband on mandolin.
