Morning Light
On noticing the first hour of the day.
The kitchen window faces east. In March the light arrives late enough that I am usually awake, but early enough that the room still holds the cool of night.
I have started leaving one cup on the counter overnight—not out of laziness, but as a small signal that the day will ask something of me before I am ready.
When the sun clears the neighbor's roof, the glaze on that cup turns the color of wheat. I try to remember that moment without reaching for my phone.