Iam sitting here tonight listening to the rain tap its lullaby onto the old tin roof above me. My heart beat seems to slow and begin to sync with nature’s rythmn.

My cup of dandelion tea is sitting next to me sending up curls of steam from the amber glow created when hot water meets tea leaves. I love the smell, how it so easily me back to earlier times.

My walk past an ancient, black iron gate early this morning comes quickly to mind. I remember the thin, woody arm of Carolina Jasmine as it reached out through the gate me asking to come in. A bevy of pale, yellow blossoms tumble to the very end, bouncing as the raindrops gather within petals. My hand is cool and wet as I touch the beauty before me. Each raindrop merges with another, making pools of water that escape when disturbed. It is all together beautiful; this late winter southern scene.

Held within the confines of this iron gate and fence remains what is left of a once gant, formal garden. The once carefully clipped boxwood have been left to their own devices. The once tended camellias, roses and fruit trees growing here seem to long for life beyond the gate. Left behind, their beauty is fragile and their future uncertain.

I notice a large number of weeds, mostly dandelion, that seem to flourish. Some are bright yellow in full bloom, fully engaged blossoms that lie flat-faced against the rain and the sun. Others are tightly closed, their beautiful yellow color completely hidden from view. Many stand straight with fragile, round seed heads set to fly away on the next sea breeze. The weeds have nearly taken over this garden. The ancient iron gate now guards the memory of what once was, while the dandelions grant wishes to what remains.

My cup of tea takes me to this garden again; I can see the dandelion. I remember how many times, as I child, I would run to grab a dandelion when I saw it. I can hear my grandmother encouraging me to “make a wish.” My breath would scatter my wishes further than I thought I would ever go. Once again, this morning, these humble weeds have shown me the power of looking the and for more.

Dandelion Tea: You can find this tea at most grocery stores, yet I love the one they have at Cornwallis Tea Room in Winnsboro. You may want to visit and try the tea for yourself.

18th and early 19th century tea cups rarely had handles. They were fashioned so you could wrap your hands around the warm cup or, in some cultures, pour the tea from the cup into the saucer, allowing it to cool before it was consumed.