A/N: Title belongs to T.S. Eliot
Though I'll never admit it, on days like this I almost enjoy the repetition.
There is something comforting in rising and knowing what will come next, a series of chores with no pressure at all except not to let the tea burn.
As I sweep the teapot from the fire, holding it in both hands to warm it, I realize that this is somewhat like meditating, because there's something calming about the flow of routine, and afterwards there is something that has been accomplished…
It's not until I see Uncle's smile that I realize I've been humming as I work.