Nicole feels

I love my tea kettle.

There's just something comforting and homey about hearing the whistle, low at first, then hissing and squealing until I dash into the kitchen to silence it.

It's shiny silver with a black handle, and it was my treat to myself as winter began. After over 17 years without one, I can't really imagine why I waited so long to add it to my stovetop.

Sometimes it just takes a little thing, you know? And tonight, for me, it's that singing pot that allows me to wrap my cold hand around a steaming mug of sweet liquid.

Tea. Cocoa. It doesn't really matter. I think I like how it makes me feel more than how it tastes.

Because it just feels like home.