A Morning Stir

I pushed back the curled beech leaf from my clove campfire to start the day. The nutshell cup was still perched on its pine-needle tripod, smelling faintly of sweet dried tea. To give my pretend brew a proper swirl, I searched along the dark seam behind the encyclopedia and pulled out a stiff, dried bristle from a whisk broom. Holding it tight with both hands, I stirred the crisp green tea flakes around and around until they rustled against the shell. It felt like brewing fresh forest nectar right on my doorstep!