Overture to Morning

Morning light seeps through the gap in the curtains. Standing in the kitchen, the still-cold air mixes with the warm scent of coffee. The low hum of the boiler, the drone of the refrigerator. All of it is the slowness morning gives. Boiling water, I take a mug from the cupboard. The glass I washed yesterday still has water on it. Outside, a sky not yet very bright, branches shaking in the cold wind. Pouring the coffee, I smile to myself. Morning is always the same, but that sameness is sometimes something to be grateful for. Cracking an egg and adding a pinch of salt, I confirm that today's mood is about average. Not good, not bad, just morning. When I've dressed and picked up my bag, a bird flies past the window. Before closing the door, I breathe in the kitchen's coffee scent one last time. This moment is the overture to a day that will never come again.