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A tea for rest and remembering warmth
The evening gathers, and the air hums with quiet. You draw close to the fire — that soft, flickering heartbeat of home — and By the Hearth begins its gentle work.
Cardamom opens the door, its sweetness wrapping around you like the memory of laughter in another room. Nutmeg and anise follow, slow and steady, coaxing your breath to match their rhythm. Cinnamon joins next — bold and familiar — grounding the moment in comfort and belonging.
Clove deepens the warmth, a slow ember glowing beneath the surface, while ginger stirs what’s left of the day’s weariness and sends it drifting away with the smoke. Sage enters softly, clearing the mind like a whispered blessing, and valerian settles in last — the hush that follows prayer, the body remembering how to rest.
This is the tea for evenings that invite surrender — for soft laughter, for unguarded silence, for the sacred ease that comes when the work is done.
Sip slowly, let the fire’s warmth find you, and remember: rest is not retreat — it’s restoration.
Best shared at the table, where love and stillness meet.
A tea for rest and remembering warmth
The evening gathers, and the air hums with quiet. You draw close to the fire — that soft, flickering heartbeat of home — and By the Hearth begins its gentle work.
Cardamom opens the door, its sweetness wrapping around you like the memory of laughter in another room. Nutmeg and anise follow, slow and steady, coaxing your breath to match their rhythm. Cinnamon joins next — bold and familiar — grounding the moment in comfort and belonging.
Clove deepens the warmth, a slow ember glowing beneath the surface, while ginger stirs what’s left of the day’s weariness and sends it drifting away with the smoke. Sage enters softly, clearing the mind like a whispered blessing, and valerian settles in last — the hush that follows prayer, the body remembering how to rest.
This is the tea for evenings that invite surrender — for soft laughter, for unguarded silence, for the sacred ease that comes when the work is done.
Sip slowly, let the fire’s warmth find you, and remember: rest is not retreat — it’s restoration.
Best shared at the table, where love and stillness meet.