it is done before anything else has begun to happen. you boil the water, but you do not yet pour. while the kettle settles, you stand near it without doing anything in particular. the day is not yet on. you are not yet on. the kettle is the only thing in the house with an opinion.
when you pour, you pour slowly enough to hear it. nothing is said. if anyone is in the room with you, they are also not speaking. the first sip is taken standing. only after the second does anyone sit down. only after the third is the day allowed to begin asking things of you. the rite is complete when the window has been looked at once, and forgotten about.
some keep this with a morning tea, some with whatever leaf is left in the tin from last week. it is not about the leaf. it is about the hour between dark and demand. you may, if you wish, repeat the rite with the third infusion, though by then the day has usually noticed you.
— field note: the cup left half-finished at the sill is not a failure of the ceremony. it is part of it. the ceremony ends when the cup is empty, even if you are not the one who empties it.
kitchen tea house four a.m. pouring tea for two writing in the log