autumn beginnings, in porcelain

dear you,

the kettle sighs first,
more awake than the day itself.
a soft exhale against the chill,
steam curls upward.

outside, the world is all sharp edges,
but here the tea thickens into gentleness.
the cold stays at the window.
inside, the cup is its own weather:
fog and hearth folded together.

rush of amber in the first pour,
the kinds that gathers corners
and teaches them to glow.
aroma lifts like a soft lantern,
earth and warmth braided as one.

a small winter sunrise in miniature,
milk falls in slow ribbons.
the surface clouds over,
not hurried, just certain.

the kettle is silent now.
the room smells of comfort,
and something faintly sweet,
like time moving without urgency.

milk and tea,
winter and warmth,
all of it settling,
exactly as it should.

yours, kate

(artwork: still life with teapot by paul cezanne)