Okay so a friend has kindly informed me that the tree in question is the wong pei, which means “yellow skin” in Cantonese, after the color of the grape-like fruit the tree bears once it finishes razzmatazz-ing pollen everywhere. I am less annoyed because wong pei are tasty. I am no less sniffly, mind you.
I speak to my neighbor. We have tea. He says he was a monk for three months in Thailand. He shaved his head and his eyebrows. It was a while ago now though, his hair and his eyebrows are very much with us.
As we wait for the tea to cool, he says he has a third eye that he can feel rattling just above the bridge of his nose. He is earnest in such a way that leaves you no choice but to tolerate a tolerance for the occult. Where I would have once been dismissive, I find myself thinking what the fuck do I know? There is a lot to unpack there. Good thing I am developing a palate for tea.
The neighbor kindly points out that while ceramic is fine for Pu-erh, we’ll definitely need a glass pot if we are to ever drink green.