The Weight of Morning

The hour he opened his eyes was six-thirty in the morning. Light that came in between the curtains lay long across the floor. It felt as if yesterday's fatigue still rested on his shoulders. Before getting up, he looked at the ceiling for a moment. He took one deep breath in and let it out slowly. He went to the kitchen and boiled water. The sound of the water boiling was small and steady. He took a cup from the cupboard and dropped in a tea bag. While he poured the hot water, through the window he could see sunlight rising up between the apartment buildings. He wrapped both hands around the cup. The warmth passing into his palms woke his still-sleeping body little by little. Outside, a bird sang. It wasn't a loud sound. Before drinking, he breathed out slowly once more. Today would pass well enough. The moment he thought that, the steam rising from the rim of the cup was quietly disappearing.