The Weight of a Morning
I burned my tongue on the first sip of coffee this morning because I was too busy staring at the way the dust motes were dancing in the kitchen light. It was a Tuesday, and the house was finally quiet after the usual frantic scramble to get out the door. I didn’t move. I just sat there, watching the steam curl up toward the ceiling, feeling the strange, heavy comfort of having absolutely nowhere to be for ten minutes. We spend so much of our lives rushing toward the next thing, checking the clock, and measuring our worth by how much we can finish before noon. But there is a quiet rebellion in simply sitting still. It is in those small, unhurried pockets of time that we finally catch up to ourselves. We aren’t being productive, and we aren’t being useful, but we are finally, truly present. Do you ever find yourself holding onto a morning like that, just to see how long it can last?
Mirka Krivankova has captured this exact feeling of stillness in her beautiful image titled Woman and Coffee. It reminds me that even the simplest rituals can hold the weight of a whole day. What does your quietest morning ritual look like?
