The first sip

I pore my first cup of coffee most mornings before the sun rises. The dark roast slops into the diner-style mug I’ve used for more than 30 years. The cup warms instantly.

I walk to my reading chair, gripping the mug with two hands. No drop must spill.

Once seated, I lift the mug. A chocolaty, humid scent cuddles my senses. And then:

The first sip.

I drink three cups most days. But it’s the first sip of each morning’s first cup that is best – always. Words, mere words, can scarcely describe the sensation. These three come close:

Comfort.

Warmth.

Joy.

Today is Thanksgiving. I had pondered for days how to craft a message of authentic thanks but failed. Selfishness, rudeness, intentional unkindness and gleeful acceptance of chaos mar our national psyche. Given the times, worry can trample gratitude. It has for me.

No, forget serving up insincerely cheerful thanksgiving.

Then came yesterday’s first sip, the latest in thousands of mornings – and another fleeting encounter with joy.

My simple bliss.

May you find yours, even in the chaos.

Happy Thanksgiving.