I slip my fingers through the handle and cup the hot ceramic. My hand burns when I hold on too long. Give it time. Let it cool. I bring my nose to the lip. Steam makes my eyes tear and dampens my face. Citrus from the lemon clings to the steam and rises. I place both my hands on either side of the mug and cross my thumbs. It’s as if I am praying. Everything slows down around me. I take a sip with a loud slurp and the tea burns my tongue. This is the process of coming to know the warmth of patience.
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