Chrysanthemum Flowers in the Autumn Teacup
The tea seller opened a glass jar and lifted one dried chrysanthemum by its stem. I watched the pale petals loosen over the counter before they ever reached a cup.
A glass jar at the tea counter
The seller kept the flowers where daylight reached the jar but not the open lid. She rejected one crushed head, chose several intact blooms, and folded them into thin paper. A few petals remained on the scale and were brushed back with a bamboo slip.
At home I use a clear cup because the flower changes visibly in water. The tight center darkens first. Petals that looked brittle at the shop spread against the glass, and the cup takes up more room on the desk than its ingredients suggest.
The refill beside a book
A reader at the table lifts the lid, sees that the cup is low, and passes it toward the kettle without breaking the conversation. The quiet refill is as much a part of the scene as the flower itself.
Goji berries sometimes share the glass. Sour-plum drink takes over on hotter afternoons, while winter-melon tea waits in a larger jar. The chrysanthemum cup remains small enough to sit beside an open book and a pair of spectacles.
Petals at the bottom
The tea seller's careful handling returns at the end of the cup. I do not stir the flower into fragments. The petals settle around the glass wall while the center stays intact.
When the cup is empty, the opened bloom rests in the strainer. Its shape is softer, but still recognizable from the jar.