Steam

I love the way steam rises
in rolling torrents
off the surface of my favourite mug.
It has no objective,
no one direction in mind
but outward.
Like myself, as I sit and ponder
on a clear November evening
about what has been
and what is yet to be.
Even in the midst of great turmoil
which can be hiding
just under the surface of nearly boiled water,
it  is the simplest observations
the simplest consistencies
which give me peace.
I am sure that in the future
whatever I find my fortune to be
I will still be able to appreciate
a mug of hot tea on a cool evening
just as well.
Still be dumbfounded
at the design the frost crystals make
on a frozen windowpane.
Still be enthralled by Your presence.
Still be ok as long as I can see beauty
in the smallest details