tea for one

the ferry from lymington to the isle of wight takes fourteen minutes - just long enough for a cup of tea and a walk from the port side to the starboard. my parents & i had no particular plans for how to spend the afternoon in britain's smallest county, so the first turn we took could not have been a wrong one, but we drove up and down the hedged-in country lanes, in and out of miniature villages with no views of the sea and deep southern accents until the roads unravelled to the west, to the setting sun, and we drove unhindered towards the needles. the road followed the cliff's edge, the dirt was ochre, and i woke up from my half-nap. we took the small path that forked off the main road and followed it to the united kingdom's second best cream tea house, as recommended in british vogue (the only travel guide i ever seem to need). the clotted cream was sweet and thicker than the cumulous clouds; the homemade jam was full of seeds and plum-skins; the earl gray was strong.

in england i was hungry & tired all the time but was able to eat & sleep my fill, in soft white sheets under sloping ceilings with a view of the garden that led to the water. my mum & i sat on a bench overlooking the harbour & talked about the big things for a little while. she sent me a postcard saying she will always remember our "grown-up talk."