Morning Opens Softly

Morning Opens Softly

Morning opens softly at the window,

Light slipping in without a sound,

I sit with a cup gone slightly cool,

Watching the day form piece by piece.

The street is slow to wake today,

A car passes, then nothing again,

Even the birds seem half decided,

As if choosing whether to sing.

I like it better when it is like this,

No rush, no sudden noise,

Just the quiet start of something new,

With no demand to be anything more.

The table holds yesterday’s paper,

Folded but not quite finished,

I never did read the last page,

It does not seem to matter now.

There is comfort in small routines,

The kettle, the chair, the view,

Things staying where they should be,

While everything else moves on.

I breathe in the stillness slowly,

Let it settle where it wants,

Not trying to hold it too tight,

Just letting it be enough.

Morning does not ask questions,

It simply arrives and waits,

Giving you space to step into it,

In your own time, your own way.

As I sit here, doing very little,

It feels like more than enough,

A quiet beginning to carry forward,

Into whatever the day may bring.

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