Cup Of Tea?

Bad mornings start with a coffee. Black Americano grabbed from the stall on the railway station platform. It sits on the small table on the train and I gulp it lukewarm as I stride into the office. It's a makeup for when I didn't sleep or I'm running late. An attempt to compensate for everything with caffeine. The day tastes slightly bitter. I spend it chasing and unfulfilled.

The best mornings start with tea. A cup made for me as I finish waking up and waiting by my favourite chair when I come downstairs. On those mornings, the kids are dressed and playing with the puppet theatre in the corner of the room, or looking at books, or hopping like giant frogs between cushions. The second cup I make myself and it takes me into the swing of the day gently.