Sunday mornings

Sunday mornings are always special.

No traffic. No work. No commitments.

Everyone sleeps in, even the birds. It’s so quiet I can hear the world breathe.

I put on some chillstep music, sip on my double espresso, and stare at the screen. I start typing, but after a few words, I stop myself. The sound of my keyboard is spoiling the quiet.

I give up.

I spin 90º to the right, and just look out the window into the morning sky, and just soak it in. It’s a rare beautiful morning sky. Golden light emerging behind the cloud curtains.

Why do I even want to work through such mornings?

I should be out there. I should be walking and soaking it in. I should be breathing in that clean crisp morning air, bathing in that refreshing golden light.

Yet here I am. In my little dusty domain where I rule as king.

They don’t call it lazy Sunday mornings for nothing.

I don’t need to rush. I don’t need to get out there. I don’t need to do anything. I don’t need to be anywhere.

I can be content here and now.

Just being and breathing.