SPRING MUSE – 30 Gms

“I glanced at her and took my glasses off—they were still singing. They buzzed like a locust on the coffee table and then ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and knew that nails up there took a new grip on whatever they touched. “I am your own way of looking at things,” she said. “When you allow me to live with you, every glance at the world around you will be a sort of salvation.” And I took her hand” – William Stafford (When I met my muse)

“One can’t write directly about the soul. Looked at, it vanishes” wrote Virginia Woolf. The question isn’t if we can risk describing the Spring muse, it is if indeed a better description of the tea exists, than the one that describes its constituents and construction? The question is, in a world where nothing is of its own explanation, how does an objective reality emerge from subjective truth? Then a gentle voice whispers “I am your own way of looking at things” and you take her hand – answers don’t matter anymore!

Yet it is nothing short of miraculous what we are able to capture in spite of our limitations. Last year was the year of Duende, this is the year of the Muse; after the angel shines her light and before the aspirational struggle of Duende, the Muse must reveal its inspirational form. The inspiration that is the White Spring Muse visits the hills once every few years – the years when the sun itself guards the solitude of the buds and young leaves of Spring; assuring its presence for at least 5 days, inspiring the feverish pace of plucking and sun drying. Only after the 5^th day does the heart know any relief – If indeed it heard the Muse correctly and managed to capture the form, not the perfection. It’s one of those teas where capturing the form is the perfection. “We know, they did”.

We’ve seen the Spring Muse, a White tea, before – from a few years ago.  It was unmistakable- the dew green color of leaves and buds; the hair on the leaves, their weightlessness– more suited for carats than grams; the smell of Chrysanthemums on the dry leaves. Impossible to confuse, the muse brews champagne frescoed and thick, into a floral panacea – a cure for dry spells and melancholy- with aromas of Frangipani and Champa. Sweet tasting and soothing like icing sugar with a creamy texture are the unmistakable flavors of Baked fruits and Vanilla in the mouth. But far from any description of subjective notes and flavors and any light that shines with the promise to reveal an objective reality, there is a quiet, calm poise in the flavors that sets the eager intellect at ease and lets the Muse dictate what it has to say.

“Oh, this will age well and be great company to age well with!”