Morning is my favorite time of day.

There’s something about the stillness that feels electric, like the world is holding its breath.

A quiet invitation.
A front-row seat to the sunrise.

Yesterday, after meditation, I resisted the pull of my phone.
Instead, I sat cross-legged on the floor by the window.

The world was hushed. The sky shifted in slow, deliberate strokes—deep blue, violet, and the softest gold.

Not quite night. Not yet day. The space between what was and what will be.

I’m not always as present as I want to be for the sunrise.
Some mornings, I sleep through it. Sometimes, I busy past it.

But when I am there, it takes my breath away. It’s achingly beautiful to witness something that unfolds whether we watch or not.

We chase the big, bold moments. But the most intimate experiences? They live in the soft transitions.

My tea tasted different. My body felt different. The whole day felt different because I was present at the beginning.

What transition will you witness today?

The hush before dawn?
The quiet fade of dusk?
The stretch before rising?
The shift between effort and ease?

What might change if you let yourself be here for it?

Savoring the in-between,

P.S. Lyrics. Chords. Norah Jones — Sunrise.

Sunrise, sunrise looks like mornin' in your eyes

But the clock's held 9:15 for hours

Sunrise, sunrise couldn't tempt us if it tried

'Cause the afternoon's already come and gone
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