How I miss
stopping by the Williams house on my weekly trip from Big Sur to Monterey to see how many
cups of tea we could squeeze out of one bag. Now, living in Indonesia, I
see square miles of it growing like a deep lush golf course and smelling like
its cousin the gardenia, little ladies in pointed straw hats picking it and
hanging it up to dry. I and the rest of the monkeys I share the forest
with will always miss those days.
Blessed be
you all,
Jeremy D.
Wilson