Coffee

One hot August morning I left a full mug behind to get a head start on the beds, and the small, ordinary way that backfired changed how I treat coffee on summer mornings.

Most Sunday mornings Theo and I sit on the patio with coffee and the beds in front of us, not talking about much of anything, and that has become the part of the week I protect the most.

What should have been a quick coffee and a look at the beds turned into a two hour stretch after a delivery, a phone call, and a sky that couldn’t decide what it was doing.

One Saturday I skipped my usual sit-with-coffee routine to get ahead of the heat, and the rushed hour that followed taught me more about pacing than any calm weekend has.

A weekend of steady rain kept me inside with coffee instead of in the dirt, and looking at the beds from behind glass showed me things I never notice up close.

A chipped, faded mug that never comes inside except to be washed, and the small morning ritual built around it that I didn’t realize I had until I tried skipping it.