Morning light
The day is kinder when you meet it before it asks anything of you.
There is a short hour that still belongs to you. The house is quiet. The light is low and honest. Nothing has arrived in the phone that needs an answer.
You do not have to earn this hour. You only have to keep it. Sit by a window. Drink water. Let the body remember it is here. If you write three lines, let them be true rather than impressive.
Health begins in how you enter the day, not in how hard you work later. A walk, however small. Air that has not been recycled. A breakfast that does not feel like a negotiation.
Gratitude lives here too, if you let it. Not a list performed for anyone. Just the fact of the light, and the fact that you noticed it.
Keep the hour when you can. When you cannot, keep five minutes. The practice is not purity. The practice is return.