Verses for a Quiet Morning

The fog rolls off the bay like a held breath finally released, and the street is still deciding whether it will be traffic or absence. I want to keep some of this hour. I have tried, so I write it down.

The window holds the grey. The kettle makes its small announcement. I am not yet a person with obligations; I am only a person with a cup, and that is enough.

These are verses, not arguments. They do not want to convince you. They want to hand you a cup and point at the fog and let you keep the moment for yourself.

I do not expect them to matter beyond the reading. That is rather the point. Not everything needs to be useful. Some mornings are their own reason.