Morning Blend

It was those cold mornings that he loved the most. When his tea would linger into the air, leaving wisps of smoke to get carried away on the breeze. Regardless if he knew the blend that was seeping in his cup, every time the aroma made it up to his nose, it caught him by surprise. Made him smile. Warm and inviting. The perfect way to start the day.

It'd just be him and the cup. Where, it didn't matter as much. If he could find the space, he'd use his suitcase as a makeshift table. If not, it became a seat. He'd wrap his hands around the china, absorbing the heat from the liquid inside. There wasn't a lot that he carried with him - just the essentials to get by, but he was always sure he had enough matches to start a fire large enough to boil water. And tea of course. Sometimes he'd buy it as he passed through a town, other times he'd collect needles off a pine tree or pick wild evergreen. It had become a routine. A necessity. The day couldn't start without it.

He'd wake up just before the sun was ready to peak over the horizon and pack his things while the water was boiling. It didn't matter if he had slept on the side of the road, in a clearing in the forrest, or a hostel. He was always up and ready before the first few beams announced the beginning of the day. Once the water was ready, he'd find a spot to sit and slowly adjust as the tea leaves released their oils and aromas.

He honestly couldn't even remember the last morning that it wasn't cold. It had been quite some time. He had been on the road longer than his mind could reach back to. He knew it was there, somewhere in the haze of his memory, but he could never find it - the starting point. At times he'd push, further and further, daring it to recall something, but every time it'd come up empty handed. Everyday it was the same thing.

Wake up. Move.

To everyone else he probably just looked like a backpacker. One of those tourists who traveled across the globe. Except, there was no set path. No distinct finishing point. He just wandered. By this point in his travels, he honestly didn't even know what part of Europe he was in. As he bounced around, amongst the changing languages, times, and currency, he stopped trying, and let himself become lost. He just floated along - blending into the masses, accepted by the cultures. Passed off from one to another. Sometimes he'd stop in one place for a few nights, work a manual job, save some money. Buy a nice meal, some water to wash with - sometimes he'd splurge, catching a ferry or bus the next day. He never travelled with a map. Nor did he bother asking for directions.

He just went.

As he sat there, he was pleased to smell the spearmint and lemon grass seeping out of his cup. It was a special blend he had purchased from a small vendor tucked away in the back of a market some time ago. Only to be used at a special moment. And today was different. He had company. Sitting across from him was a young child - her head not much taller than his suitcase when sitting down. She had wandered over right as he was taking his first sip. Without hesitation, he had pulled out his spare cup and poured her some. Nodding, she blew into it for a few moments and brought it her mouth - smiling as the liquid touched her lips. They didn't say anything. Just sat there, enjoying each other's company.

When his suitcase began to rumble - he knew his journey was about to begin again. It wasn't long before the train pulled into station, conductor hanging off the door, announcing the next destination in some tongue he didn't recognize.

Standing up, he packed his things away. Looking down at her, he said "Thank You" the only way he knew how, but she looked back, with a look in her eyes as if she didn't understand, and reached out, offering his spare cup back to him. Humbled, he smiled and waved it off. It was hers to keep.

Maybe someday down the road she'd share her morning with someone else.

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