The first hour of the morning

There is an hour before the day begins asking things of us. The kettle has not boiled, the messages have not arrived, and the window still holds more night than morning. I have started keeping this hour empty on purpose.

It was harder than I expected. The hand reaches for the phone by itself, the way it reaches for a light switch in a familiar room. For the first weeks the hour felt less like rest and more like waiting for something to happen. Nothing did, and that turned out to be the point.

What I notice now is how loud the mind is when it has nothing to hold. Plans arrive, then small worries, then fragments of conversations from days ago. If I leave them alone they pass, like traffic heard from a distance. After a while there are gaps between them, and the gaps are the best part of the day.

I do not think this needs a method. A chair by the window is enough, and a cup of something warm, and the decision not to fill the time. The rest of the day still comes, as loud as ever. But it comes to someone who has already been quiet for an hour, and that changes how it is received.