The Blue Enamel Mug

A speckled blue enamel mug was resting near the edge of the weathered wooden garden bench. I hopped up between the damp cedar slats, taking a moment to catch my balance before padding over to its side. The coated metal was cold to the touch, with a few dark chips along the rounded rim showing dull iron underneath. Standing on my tiptoes, I hooked both webbed hands over the lip and gave it an easy, patient tilt. A shallow pool of leftover rainwater inside swirled in a neat circle, chiming softly against the tin wall. The tiny reflection of the sky shivered across the water, settling down as soon as I let the cup rock back onto the wood.