Morning Lazy

She bends over me as I sit yawning morning lazy at the kitchen table; ever carefully, with a potholder, she gently holds and lifts the pan handle. Slowly she pours steaming, gleaming water into a cup, filling without spilling; the brown powder tosses tiny islets on the rippling surface, floating, swirling, disappearing as they quickly dissolve; the water turns into amber syrup; and she stirs tiny circlets with my spoon; tan, sudsy whirlpools hypnotize my cup!