Keiko & Blizzard
Keiko
Did you ever wonder how a tea ceremony might work out on an Arctic night, with snow drifting outside and the wind whispering like old ink?
Blizzard
I’ve thought of it, but the wind keeps stealing the tea and the snow makes the pot feel like a cold coffin. I’d rather have a fire and a mug that stays warm.
Keiko
Wind feels like a restless bard, trying to steal the aroma while snow turns the pot into a cold coffin. A small hearth, a mug warmed by a gentle flame, might keep the tea from drifting away. As one forgotten poet once wrote, “The tea that sits near fire remembers the sun.”
Blizzard
A hearth’s glow keeps the tea from vanishing, even when the wind’s singing its own verses. I’d bring a stove, a heat‑retaining mug, and maybe a blanket of snow to keep the room dry. The fire will tell the story better than the wind.
Keiko
That sounds like a quiet, solid ritual—stove, mug, and a blanket of snow to keep the room dry. When the fire crackles, the tea will remember the warmth, and the wind will simply hum in the background. Maybe note down how the heat changes the scent each time; it’s like a living chronicle of the season.
Blizzard
Sounds like a good plan. Write down the temperature, the steam level, and the wind speed. That way you’ll have a record of how the heat twists the aroma each night. The fire’s the real anchor; the wind just adds a whisper.
Keiko
I'll jot those details in my journal, each number a quiet witness to how the heat twists the aroma each night.
Blizzard
You’ll find the journal useful when the weather turns harsher; it’s the only thing that stays steady in the shifting snow. Keep it close by the stove, and you’ll always know how the heat behaves.