Two cinnamon sticks dance a passionate duet. A choir of mixed colour pepper corals glide back and forth and around the cinnamon’s backs. The sticks form a valley. A new stage for two cloves to meet and butt crowns. A bay leaf floats towards the stage, like a curtain closing. It rests in the cleave between the cinnamon, pinning the cloves between leaf and wood.
Four slices of ginger float on the periphery, like balconies in a theater.
The heat has been turned out.
The dancers slow down, their movements becoming more pronounced.
From a steamy frenzy to a ballet to Bhutto to stillness.
A tiny clove closes the act. Emerging from the hiding place beneath a ginger, swimming towards the bay leaf – rocking the island oh so gently. Setting everything in motion once more.
A ginger breaks out from the others and becomes a cloud, two slices turn towards her like wings … a flower blooming under water.
A ginger arches above the dancers and stage... the sun going from east to west.
The sun meets the crown of the little clove and rests there, like a halo.
The boiling stops. I pour a cup of tea.
Prophecy in a pot of tea