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Every morning, I wake up facing West. 

The mountains were piling high with snow, the day bathed in grey before it even started. 

I resisted the urge to stay under the covers, warm with dreams of summertime, and stepped my bare feet onto the winter hardwood instead. I tiptoed down the stairs, my feet the only sound in the still sleeping house. 

I sat myself in front of the window for my morning routine. A few minutes to myself before the day started; time to move, wrap my mind in stillness, and write. Selfishly savoring the quiet. Body facing East, hoping for a glimpse of sun. 

As I moved with my breath, I noted the changes in the sky. Faint pinks and golds doing their best to shine as the sun worked her way up through the heft of the heavy spring storm. A muted kaleidoscope of morning color. Their dance was brief, colors quickly retreating back into the belly of the clouds.

For a moment, I saw the life in an otherwise colorless sky.

Every morning, I wake up facing West. 

If I want to begin my day with darkness, it’s easy to come by in the middle of a mountain spring.

Or, I can acknowledge life’s clouds, 

and shift my body towards the light.

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