The Taste of a Gray Morning

The light coming in between the curtains is quiet in a way it wasn't yesterday. Steam rises slowly from the mug set by the window. I put on a song I love and do nothing. Before the busy day begins, I give myself over for a while to this gray stillness. The music I wanted to hear, the first line of a book I should read, a scent I've kept in my heart. These things spread like paint on a hazy day. On a morning like this, my taste is for leaving myself empty rather than filling myself up.