Memory

The awakening of the dragon, imperial. His eyes sparkle with an icy fire. Essence of orange. He rises above my cup of red tea. His breath swirls the bergamot flavor. His trembling shadow stretches across the parlor where I stand. Suddenly the heat increases. The atmosphere changes from citrus to intense wood. It takes its momentum and comes out of the palace in a flash of powder. Benzoin. What's he looking for? Outside the snow suddenly stops. In the distance I see him, he follows the Great Wall of China, and with it, undulates. The dragon is overjoyed, drunk with freedom. He sows a perpetual spring, mate tea, grapefruit, and yet behind him, passionate amber and vanilla. Winter Palace has released its emissary, a tough, winged dragon king with a burning trail.