Warm tea in Winter's time

The escaping vapor of heat from the tea cup sitting upon the table swirls into the warmed inside air of the cafe. I recognize this familiar pattern of vapor's levity upward, seen in the chilly air of winter. Laying in the back of the van this morning, captivated and content in my prone form, smothered in a warm down sleeping bag, observant of the twirling vapor trail issuing from my mouth - existing in a space of being, just being.

An hour later, I feel in the midst of this space still, with no definable future boundaries, only a beginning point to the space; perhaps another marker in the sand, so-to-speak. Call this an epoch and I would not argue with you. Call it a session with trail and error and I would feel fully supportive of that notion.


A month-long relationship is now over. Not seeming to find a middle ground, from which I was willing to compromise with, I chose to walk away. Inevitably, all things end. This is nothing unusual to admit, though, do I take comfort in this thought of endings?

The snow of winter's time falls outside, light in its dusty dance downward. Fueled by a slight wind from the Northwest, I admit privilege of being inside and out of the van, my winter home, for this space of time before an afternoon work shift. With this freedom, I feel content - something I know to be easy for me - when I am with just myself. At my mother's remarks last evening on the phone, I recognize the sentiment I take in being with myself - a comfort I've watched develop conversely with age. And, I acknowledge how that can shift - though, am I too particular to shift when the situation seems right?

I often listen to music when writing, finding comfort in the out-pour of what is my current mental reality. Whilst composing today, Rain Song, by Led Zeppelin came onto my music player. The last set of lyrics holds me, pulls me into a world of thought:


These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall;
This is the wonder of devotion - I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient - Upon us all a little rain must fall.

Perhaps into a world of cerebral comfort. And, I will not fight it. For, from inside this comfort, I have only to expand out -  and out again - into the world I live in. Smiling and greeting it by its appearance to my heart: a grateful and overflowing cup of privilege! Just like the cup of tea, steaming and welcoming with warmth from the cold. 

For this, I continually feel thankful; I have everything I truly need, and realize the details of desire yet to be worked out, future-tense. 

Thank you for your love and vested interest in my life - again and again.

Alan