All Things. . .


 

As always, it was there waiting for him.

As if by some unseen magic. A gift from the Gods.

The sun had found the tiniest crack in the curtains and pried his eye open to the acknowledgement of morning. Feet shuffled across the cold floor, comforter wrapped around him offering little comfort, carrying into the kitchen. There is was - inexplicably waiting - and inexplicably still hot.  The cup that held the endless possibilities of the day. The hopes and dreams, the necessary hash marks to check of day’s to-do-list. The power and grace needed to survive the waking hours. The cup of quests, that called to man since the dawn of time. Always ready. Always hot. Always there.

It warmed his fingers as his hands embraced. He raised it to his lips.

All things were now possible.


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