Mornings are still hard,
no question.
The call of warm sheets, drowsy cat,
the soft oblivion of sleep
can be downright irresistible
(and are often not resisted).
But I've learned
that if I manage to push through the temptation,
rinse the sleep from my eyes,
and settle at my desk
in the warm glow of lamplight,
a mug of strong black tea at my elbow,
seemingly complex tasks
(say, writing)
unspool themselves,
falling into an orderly string of
first one step
then
another.
With a mind still untroubled
by the clamor of the coming day,
I find space
and quiet
and clarity.
Two or three hours later,
I look up to the brightening day,
filled with the satisfying weariness
of good work accomplished,
and think that surely
the memory of this feeling
will carry me easily out of bed
tomorrow.
A conviction that lasts
all the way through
the next morning's
alarm.
Completed July 31, 2024.