The crack in the cup has grown a millimetre since winter, which is either a fact or a mood. Steam clouded the window and then withdrew, leaving a circle I did not draw. On the step, a neighbour’s child arranged stones in a seriousness I recognised from work. The radio offered a voice and I declined it. What arrived, while the water was not yet ready, was not an idea so much as a permission: that the essay could begin with the kettle and not apologise for the kettle. We are always being asked to start at the important part. The important part, this morning, was the wait. When the switch clicked I had already written the sentence I needed, and the tea was simply what the sentence had been keeping warm.#
This is an excerpt. The complete piece is in the print and digital edition of Issue 01.