In my parents house there are cupboards crammed with mugs. The matching sets seem to fade at various speeds, one never quite the same rate as the others, and the mugs near the back are so crippled and cracked you’d wonder who’d even dare to drink from them. In the summer when the days are long and the fields full of tractors, we rediscover the cups barely larger than a thimble. The ones that only come out when the dishwasher is mid-cycle, and everything else is scattered across driver cabins and pick-ups. These are the days when the cry goes up for the purge and new eco-systems are discovered.

In my own house, the mugs are just as mismatched. While the other half buys four the same, I horde crockery one piece at a time. Even the sets are unique in each individual piece. One a pheasant, a rooster, a hare, a fox. Sizes, patterns, colours, the cupboard is a threatened explosion. Some speak for me, ‘Go Away I’m Writing’, ‘It’s Okay, Writers Are Supposed To Be Strange’, while others are simply bowls mascaraing around in a handle. What? It still counts as a single cup of tea.

I can trace my timeline through the cups of tea I have drank. Through the gifts and the purchases cluttering the kitchen.

Leaves turn to amber

as autumn’s fingers creep near.

Tea brews in the pot.

I might be a little obsessed with mugs, I will admit that. I’m very proud of the collection I have amassed so far in my life. It’s a beautiful collection! See for yourself:

Tonight’s inspiration over at dVerse Poets Pub is imperfection and it’s Haibun Monday night so the haikus will be out in force! If you want to join in then you can click the badge above and visit the pub for yourself. Happy writing.