Sunlight and Sweet Tea

I was sittin’ on the back porch, my feet propped up on the edge of the old wooden table mama built years ago. That table wasn’t perfect—edges chipped, one leg slightly shorter than the others—but it held my mug of sweet tea steady, and that was all that mattered. The steam curled up, mixin’ with the warm sunlight that poured over the porch floorboards, and for a second, everything felt slow, easy, like it wasn’t got a care in the world.

“Boy, you sittin’ out here like the world owe you somethin’,” my cousin Keisha said, leanin’ on the railing with her own cup of tea. She had a crooked smile on her face, the kind that made you feel like she knew exactly what you were thinkin’. “You gon’ let that chair boss you around all day?”

I laughed, shiftin’ in the rocking chair, the wood groanin’ under me. “Nah, sis. This chair teach me patience. Slow down. Watch. Listen.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Furniture teachin’ you life lessons now?”

“Maybe,” I said, blowin’ softly on the tea. “Look at it. Been here through storms, heat, rain, kids runnin’ all over it. Still hold me up. Steady.”

Keisha shook her head, sippin’ her tea, thoughtful now. “You right. Ain’t nothing fancy ‘bout it, but it steady. Just like life should be sometimes.”

I glanced at the little table beside us. It had scratches, dents, and a burn mark from a candle mama forgot to blow out one Christmas. Yet it held our mugs steady, as if it was proud to carry the weight of our quiet afternoon. The cushions on the chairs, the chipped wood, the crooked legs—they all had history, like silent witnesses to family laughs, arguments, and long talks that lasted until the sun dipped low.

“Remember last summer?” I said, swirling the tea. “We was out here ‘til dark, watchin’ fireflies. That table got sticky from lemonade, chairs got wet from rain… but it held.”

Keisha laughed. “Yeah, and you tried to chase a frog into the yard and fell off the porch. Table and chairs still didn’t quit on you.”

I grinned, sip slow, feelin’ the warmth settle in my chest. The porch creaked, the chairs groaned, tea steamed, and the sun started slantin’ low, paintin’ everything gold. Furniture, tea, family—they held the day together. Simple, steady, and enough to make the world feel right, if only for a little while.

We stayed like that a long time, sippin’ tea, laughin’ at old stories, watchin’ the light change. Porch, furniture, tea—they weren’t just things. They were steady hands in a world that moved too fast.