Sunday, 1 March 2026

I Glimpsed a Child



 



 

Dear Reader, 

In the heart of Morocco where tradition weaves through the fabric of daily life, the ritual of mint tea preparation is a story of culture, hospitality and history.

This beloved drink, a symphony of green tea, mint leaves, sugar, and water, is more than a beverage, it is a symbol of Moroccan generosity and warmth, cherished from the bustling souks of Marrakesh to the tranquil Amazign (Berber) villages in the Atlas mountains.

Beyond its soothing taste, Moroccan mint tea is lauded fro its health benefits.  Rich in antioxidants , this verdant drink is a guardian of well-being, offering a refreshing pause in the rhythm of life, a moment to reflect and rejuvenate amidst the day's pursuits.

The serving of mint tea in Morocco transcends the mere act of hospitality, it is a ceremonial gesture of respect and friendship. It graces the most auspicious occasions, from weddings to religious festivities, each pour from the ornate berrad (teapot) as a symbol of unity and celebration.

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Marrakesh is quite my favourite place abroad.  It is so exciting with rich colour everywhere, exotic people and beautiful buildings. I bought a carpet whilst being offered mint tea.  It was delicious.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth  March 1st  1798 in Somerset

'The shapes of the mist, slowly moving along, exquisitely beautiful; passing over the sheep they almost seemed to have more of life than those quiet creatures.  The unseen birds singing in the mist.'

 

From Francis Kilvert  March 6th   1875  in Wiltshire

'A sudden and blessed change in the weather, a S.W. wind, bearing warm rain, and the birds in the garden and orchard singing like mad creatures.'

 

From D.H. Lawrence   March 8th  1916 in Cornwall

'It is still cold.   Snow falls sometimes, then vanishes at once.  Then the sun shines, some gorse bushes smell hot and sweet.'

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I glimpsed a child

 

on the kitchen chair

feet dangling

legs swinging

 

large brown eyes stared

from a dusty pale face

 

she didn’t smile or speak

 

about seven years old I thought

Syrian perhaps or Iraqi

her clothes once pink and green

now mud stained and torn

 

her silver bracelets sparkling

in the sunlight

 

I made her Moroccan mint tea

offered her cake

kissed her cold cheek

dried her tears

 

I fetched more sugar

but on return I saw

the chair was empty

the child gone

dissolved in the morning air

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia