Miracle

Miracle

"The sun is shining."                        

    "So?"

"Well, look at it, the morning . . . "

"I'd go blind if I look at it."

"I didn't mean directly. What I'm trying to say is that every morning of our lives..."

"Did you make coffee?"

She nods. "The sun rises..."

"Doesn't actually rise, you know?"

"I know. But when I look out the window and see that glorious..."

"Where's my cup? I don't see my cup, the black one with...."

"I know. The Viking." 

She holds the cup up, pours the coffee, half a cup the way he likes it, gives it to him. "I was just thinking," she said, "that the sun is a miracle, a gift that happens...."

"Every damn day."

She nods. "I wouldn't have said damn."

"I know. That's why I said it for you. It is a miracle!"

"Really? You think so?"

"And a blessing."

She is silent for two minutes, which is a miracle. He waits. He doesn't even taste the coffee. He lets her take it in. He waits.

"It is a miracle," she says again.

He nods. "And a gift every day, freely given."

"Yes," she manages to say, "yes" and he turns away to drink his coffee so she won't know he knows his agreeing with the trite miracle of the sun moved her to tears. Job done.

"Damn good coffee," he says.

Another gift.