The morning cup

The complete story

Before going to bed, the lighthouse keeper washed her blue cup. Warm water passed over its curved handle and collected briefly in the bottom. She dried it with a linen cloth, turning it slowly in her hands.

The kitchen was small enough that everything had a familiar place. A jar of oats stood beside the stove. A wooden spoon lay on a folded towel. At the window, a pot of rosemary leaned a little toward the sea.

She set the cup on the table, ready for morning. Beside it she placed a spoon, though she had not decided what she would drink. That could wait. The cup did not mind being empty for a while.

Upstairs, the light continued its patient circle. Its glow crossed the kitchen wall, then moved away. For a moment, the handle of the cup cast a shadow shaped like a small doorway.

The keeper opened the window just a little. Cool air touched the back of her hand. Somewhere below the path, water moved between the stones. The rosemary leaves stirred, carrying their faint green scent into the room.

She looked once more at the table. There was enough there for a beginning, when a beginning was needed. Nothing else had to be arranged tonight.

In the bedroom, she laid her slippers side by side. The sheet was cool, and the blanket settled with a gentle weight. She could hear the sea through the open space beneath the window.

Tomorrow would bring light to the kitchen. The blue cup would be waiting. For now, the room was dark and kind, and she had no need to meet the morning early.