The Little Things

There's something comforting about hot coffee on a brisk winter morning. Not the snowy kind, but the mornings when the misty rainclouds kiss the ground and shroud your surroundings in a thick white veil. The warmth from the old, chipped mug in your hands stamped with the name of a surf shop you've never been to, combats the clouds. You cannot see the sunshine, but the little respite between your chapped fingers reminds you that it will return someday.