成都品茶不办卡的工作室2023推荐

（威Q电185-8485-8556）您的满意，我的追求 ，日常生活，尽管商品经济和心理特征不一样，决策了每一个人对幸福的定义皆有不一样。

母亲 极爱茗。家里有一整套茶具，沏茶是母亲每天都会做的事。母亲总是跪坐在那张小茶几前，洗净手，轻柔缓慢地沏茶。茶汁敲打杯壁，叮叮叮咚。母亲神色肃穆，犹如在举行一场神圣盛大的祭礼。

我总是不懂，将平淡无味的白开水泡得苦涩滚烫，究竟有什么韵味？每每母亲端着她精心沏好的茗递给我时，我总是推开她的手，躲开她那双充满期待与希冀的眼，匆匆逃开。忍不住回头，只见母亲一人坐在椅子上落寞地啜着茗，一杯又一杯。

但却在一个不知名的阴雨天，茗悄然走进了我的 世界 。雨天心情总是很低沉。况且我埋在书堆已经一上午了，心情绝不会太 美丽 。我在题海中默默地想，科学书上说的果然没错，阴雨天气压低往往会感到疲倦和心情烦躁。想着想着，各种压力突然让我感到一阵眩晕，却还是不得不捧起了作业。

写了一阵子，我疲惫地揉揉 眼睛 ，伸了个懒腰。随手拿起桌边的茶杯就猛地喝了一大口。霎时， 温热的水在喉间滑下。带着苦味的清香在口中弥散。仿佛在山间清晨漫步小径，温暖而不炙热，清爽而不凉薄，覆盖我所有肌肤。这是茗？可余味竟是一股甘甜。甘味并不浓烈，淡淡地浮动在舌尖。我望了一眼杯口，墨绿的茶叶沉在水底。这是茗。这是母亲亲手沏的茗。

那点茶香突然开始若有若无地撩拨我的心弦。在我写作业写得入神时，母亲定是在半掩的房门间瞥见我伏案书写的疲倦神情，便悄悄地走到茶几旁。一如既往的虔诚姿态，但却多了一份情。她将精心挑选好的茶叶细细地撒进滚烫的开水中，是将暖暖的关心撒进滚烫的爱中，沉淀出满满的心意。使其苦涩的，是茶叶还是一直被拒绝的失落？而母亲，究竟是迈着多么小心翼翼的步伐，才能不打搅我，将那盏温暖轻放。这盏茗，我可以品一生。

这场与茗的悄然相逢，让我开始学会品茗。因为我明白，心意是有 味道 的，它不只停留在味蕾，还停留在这场温柔的相逢里。

My mother loves tea very much. There is a complete set of tea sets at home, and making tea is something my mother does every day. My mother always kneels in front of the small coffee table, washes her hands, and slowly brews tea. The tea juice pounded against the wall of the cup, tinkling. Mother’s expression was solemn, as if holding a sacred and grand ceremony.

I always don’t understand, what is the charm of soaking plain and tasteless boiled water until it is bitter and hot? Whenever my mother hands me her carefully brewed tea, I always push away her hand, avoid her eyes full of anticipation and hope, and hurriedly run away. Unable to resist looking back, I saw my mother sitting alone in a chair, sipping tea, one cup after another.

But on an unknown rainy day, Ming quietly entered my world. On rainy days, one’s mood is always low. Moreover, I have been buried in a pile of books all morning, and my mood will never be too beautiful. I silently thought in the question sea that what the science book said is indeed true, as it often leads to fatigue and irritability when the weather is low in cloudy and rainy weather. Thinking and thinking, various pressures suddenly made me feel dizzy, but I still had to pick up my homework.

After writing for a while, I rubbed my eyes wearily and stretched my waist. Casually picked up the teacup by the table and took a big gulp. In an instant, warm water slid down the throat. A bitter fragrance diffuses in the mouth. It’s like walking on a trail in the early morning in the mountains, warm but not hot, refreshing but not cold, covering all of my skin. Is this Ming? But the aftertaste turned out to be a sweet aftertaste. The sweet taste is not strong, lightly floating on the tip of the tongue. I glanced at the rim of the cup, and the dark green tea leaves sank to the bottom of the water. This is Ming. This is the tea made by my mother herself.

The fragrance of the tea suddenly began to stir my heartstrings, vaguely. When I was engrossed in my homework, my mother must have caught a glimpse of my tired expression as I lay on my desk writing between the half closed doors, so she quietly walked to the coffee table. The usual devout attitude, but with an added touch of affection. She sprinkles carefully selected tea leaves into the boiling water, spreading warm care into the boiling love, and precipitating a full heart. Is it tea or the disappointment of being rejected that makes it bitter? And my mother, how carefully she walked to not disturb me and let go of the warmth. I can taste this tea for a lifetime.

This quiet encounter with Ming made me start to learn how to taste tea. Because I understand that the heart has a taste, it not only stays in the taste buds, but also in this gentle encounter.