The Temperature of Morning

When I open my eyes in the morning, the first thing I do is open the window. Afraid yesterday's heavy air might still be in the room, I turn the handle carefully. Cold wind comes in, and the smell of trees mixed into it tickles my nose. The world is still quiet. Wherever last night's worries have gone, the sky outside is simply clear. Brewing a cup of coffee, I think: not every day can be good, but a day when morning comes like this must be a fine one. When I wrap both hands around the hot cup, its warmth melts yesterday's tiredness little by little. Today too, I just have to live the day through. Without straining to do well, if I can simply breathe, walk, and laugh now and then. Morning always waits for me like that, without a word.