The first few moments of morning move slower than the others.
Soon the kitchen will hum with breakfast grabbing and lunch packing and last minute arrangements for the day. Lights will flicker on one after another.
But now is the slow, quiet time.
I pad to the kitchen, my bare feet relishing the cool, smoothness of the wood floor. I lean against the sink and let my focus drift out the window.
It’s still as dark outside as inside.
I stand a moment longer as a pair of headlights stalks on silent feet toward me. Another pair slides across from left to right. A third set creeps forward, but pauses at a curb for a beat, another, another, before it pulls away.
All is still again. The neighbor’s motion sensor has triggered their driveway light. The inviting house across the street comes into focus. A row of mailboxes stand sentinel on the corner.
Two breaths. The space of three heartbeats.
Finally, I click on a single light above the sink.