The Warm Rim

A broad ring of pale vapor curled from the mouth of a heavy stoneware mug, carrying the rich, resting warmth of steeped chamomile across the dark table grain. I paced along the varnished timber with deliberate, unhurried stride. Near the curved handle lay an unlit beeswax tealight, its smooth yellow wax sunken slightly inside a fluted tin cup. As the draft from the closing study door stirred the room, the faint air current pushed a loose cedar match toward the mug's base. I did not turn aside. Advancing with measured tread, I brought my raised right foreleg down squarely across the round match shaft. The wood settled flat against the tabletop with a faint click, wedged fast against the mug's warm ceramic wall. Leaning my flank into the gentle heat, I claimed the quiet perimeter as night gathered.