Morning Rituals

The morning stirs quietly. In the dim light, the kitchen still holds the warmth of yesterday. The kettle sits on the stove top, its metal dulled by years of use. The water begins to boil, a soft murmur filling the air. My hand reaches out to grip it, the motion almost instinctive, shaped by countless mornings like this. It's a simple act, yet it carries the promise of the day ahead.

In the bedroom, the linen sheets hold memories of summer. Delicate imprints of grasses appear in soft, earthy tones - yellows and browns that speak of days spent in the fields under the sun. This fabric, with its texture and imperfect hues, wraps around me still, like a quiet, comforting whisper.

Outside, the cold bites at my skin, but my fingers close around the kindling. Twigs and small branches, gathered and brought inside, are ready to spark the fire. This simple act - placing the wood, hearing it crackle, feeling the warmth rise - holds the beauty of life's essentials.

Each morning, in these suspended moments, I find a part of myself. Between the singing kettle, the linen carrying the past, and the fire coming back to life, there's an invitation to slow down, to notice. To welcome the light of a new day with gratitude.