Fresh brewed coffee
Bread, applesauce and cheese
A few sunflower seeds
A book to read
A couch with cushions, a table nearby
Sweet captured time that will not fly
 
Pour the coffee in a large cup
Make sure it’s hot 
Might need a top
And bread and sauce and cheese and seed 
They feed, comfort and flavor 
They ground the body’s needs

Bring food and drink to the table
Like a servant of self 
With decorum and reverence
Speak a small prayer if you’re able
Perhaps a thank you or a chant 

Bring in your knees
Like a fetus returning to the womb
Your back nestled in the cushions
Safe under a light fleece
Breathe in
Stop counting the seconds

Take a first sip
Put the cup down
Open the book
Don’t make a sound
Read
Listen
Savor

My life is built around routines. Morning after morning, after morning. The same, delicious, soothing routine.

For 22 years, I lived in a small house with huge living room windows. Natural light enveloped everything, all day. Even on rainy days, even in winter. Just peacefully light to greet me in the morning and accompany me well into evening.

A ritual took shape early, as naturally as that light. Every single day, whether I was getting ready for work or had the day to myself, I looked forward to nestling on the couch, sideways, a large pillow supporting my back, the windows behind me, lighting the page. I would close my eyes while gently holding my cup in my hands, nestling it, sensing the heat. After a few moments, my eyes opened to take in my space. And as familiar as it was, there is not one morning I did not feel blessed by the light. Blessed by my home. Blessed to be safe.

And blessed because of the companions at my side. My husband, Roderick. Also an avid reader. And later, just his dog and my cat, huddling together, feeling safe in the life we were learning to share after he passed.

I’ve turned down jobs that require an early start. Not that I am not physically capable; and I am far from lazy. I’ve turned them down because my mornings are sacred. They have kept me grounded when life turned on its ends with such a sudden overpowering blast that any sane person might become seriously unstable. When I do get to work, I pour myself into it. That morning pause is my super power, I suppose.

Sometimes I write too, as on the day I wrote the above poem. Sometimes, and this is by far my favorite thing, I allow whatever fiction or non-fiction book I am reading to inspire questions. These, I instantly note. They become prompts for journaling. And these impromptu questions that may have few or no connection to my daily experience at the time invariably lead to deeper levels of understanding, solutions to problems, and inspiration for creative projects.

If you like to read (I suspect you do since you are here), jot down questions that come to mind naturally as you turn the pages. Pick one, randomly. The more random the better. They open doors.