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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