I wake up to an empty coffee pot, brew a hot cup of tea instead. Egyptian Licorice—the winning flavor plucked from a large apothecary jar. Clover honey drips off my spoon. It’s the good stuff—organic, from a local roadside fruit stand. I think about the sun-kissed boy, the way he smiled, beamed with pride, how he let me sample the berries—the ones he picked while dew still glistened under a mother’s watchful eye. The whistling kettle startles me, jolts me from my morning daydream. Funny how a cup of hot tea has this charming way of urging me to savor its healing flavor—stark contrast to my usual hurried bolt of caffeine. And the honey with its soothing gift—an awakening, gratitude for a new day. At day’s end, a cool dip in the pool. The moon spotlights a stilled honeybee floating in the cool blue oasis. The agapanthus bow in prayer while daylilies sleep to hide their mourning. I whisper a quiet thank you, scooping his tiny body into my palm.