An ice fog obscures the mountain. Overnight chill penetrates the house. I light the fire and brew tea. Warming my hands on the cup, steam rises to greet me. I draw the bow of the serrated knife through the bread with a flourish, as though I'm starting an overture. The scent of cinnamon reaches me as the slab turns crisp and brown in the toaster.
The phone rings - I hear the smile in a friend's voice.
Finally - fire, tea, toast, friend - the cold is banished.
small stone - Mindful Writing Challenge