Last night I kicked over a small table in my living room. It held a glass of red wine. The wine went flying. Some of my books and a good portion of carpet got doused. It was spectacularly bad.
Continuing in the same vein, this morning at the office I went for a jar of green tea and spilled a bunch of leaves on the floor. As I bent over to pick them up, I thought about what I always think about when I waste any tea leaves: Wang Lung, the poor farmer in The Good Earth, and how on the morning of his wedding he gives himself and his old father a special treat, a couple of tea leaves to flavor their breakfast hot water. His father scolds him for being wasteful but then slurps up the tea greedily. And Wang Lung drinks his tea and then chews and eats the precious leaves.
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