Sunshine, Tea, & Quiet Company

Today I was invited to lunch at a friend’s place. I initially refused, partly because of the unending work here, and maybe partly because crowds make me a little uneasy. Yet good company has its own way of calling you back, and so I went a little late. The lunch was long over, but I arrived in time for a warm cup of tea and the comfort of friendly faces.

Their house sits in a lovely sunny spot. In the hills that is nothing short of a blessing, especially in winter. Sunshine brings everything to life. Flowers look cheerful, trees grow happier, and fruits ripen a little earlier in summers with more sweetness and flavour.

In one corner of their place stands a wild persimmon tree. A common tree, yet quite generous in its season. Today, the great barbets were feasting on its fruit. This is one bird that is often heard but rarely seen. Its call echoes through the woods, loud and unmissable, yet its green and black colours blend so well with the foliage that is hard to spot. Today though, with the leaves gone for winter and bright orange persimmons still clinging on, they were clearly visible, hopping about with great joy.

Somewhere in the distance, white-throated thrushes were calling. They travel in groups and once you know their sound, you recognise it instantly. The hills are full of familiar voices if one only learns to love silence and is ready to listen.

There has been news of leopards wandering through the area, so I have been keeping away from long walks in the forest for now. It is only fair to give their true residents a little space. This winter has been strange too. Because of the climate crisis, the bears have not yet settled into hibernation. The nights are not cold enough, and so they continue to roam about, sleepy yet restless, and one would rather not surprise them on a lonely path. Still, when I hear the birds calling or catch sight of them flitting through the branches, I feel the old longing to walk among the trees again. Perhaps I shall return to those quiet woodland trails once the leopard has chosen another hillside to explore, and once the bears finally find winter deep enough to lull them to sleep. Until then, the forest can wait, and I shall admire it from a respectful distance.

In my friends’ garden I noticed a swing. The same kind I have often thought of buying. I had always hesitated, unsure of how it would fare in the open, unsure if I truly needed it. But today as I sat on it, feeling the winter sun on my face, gently swaying with the wind while birds sang around me, the doubt faded. Perhaps one day, when there is some spare money, I will bring one home. I can already imagine placing it in a sunny corner of the orchard, drifting into a short afternoon nap, rocking slowly like a leaf in the breeze, to the sound of birds and rustling leaves.

Over tea, our conversation drifted across many small but meaningful things – the quiet beauty of nature, the hydrangeas that never arrived, rainwater harvesting and the ways of conserving water, and the everyday challenges of logistics and transporting goods in the hills. We spoke of village-style chulhas and the delicious lunch I had sadly missed, and before long we were exchanging book recommendations, as if good stories too were a kind of nourishment.

Life need not be complicated. A little sunshine, some kind company, a cup of tea, and gratitude for simple blessings. That is quite enough.

The tea was excellent and with it came slices of Christmas cake. The perfect companion for an unhurried and mindful afternoon. Everyone seemed content, talking softly, laughing gently, and basking in the comforting warmth of the winter sun.

It was a quiet afternoon, nothing grand, nothing extraordinary. Yet it felt complete.

An afternoon well spent.

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