The Temperature of Morning

Sunlight seeping in between the curtains makes a pillar of light in which dust hangs in the air. She breathes in deeply. The smell of coffee grounds brewing, the faint scent of the old wooden desk, and the smell of earth soaked by last evening's rain are all mixed together. The water in the electric kettle bubbles as if about to boil, then goes quiet. If anything, that sound makes the silence deeper. Low clouds still linger outside the window, but their edges shine silver. She presses her palms together and feels the warmth. The unease she tossed and turned with last night seems to melt away little by little. When she pours hot water into the teacup, steam rises and touches her fingertips. She closes her eyes and feels that warmth with her whole body. Morning says nothing, but it soothes everything. In the stillness, her breathing goes on evenly. Just then, the bird that had been sitting on the windowsill quietly folds its wings.