Eight

This is my favourite cup. I am always pleased when it happens to be at the front of the cupboard, waiting for one teabag or another. We get on well the cup and I. It’s smooth rimmed, sturdy weight reassures me that, actually, all is well. 

I daydream journeys. My cup of tea takes me to far-flung adventures; all the colours of the world are collected by my trusty camper. And then, revived, I return. Eyes open into the deep, insular square of my kitchen. But my cup still whispers:

'The world waits for you yet'