Day 8 - The Rhythm of Morning

Oh, the mornings are not my favourite time of day. I’m a night owl through and through, the kind who thinks best when the house is quiet and the moon peeks in through the window. 
The school-run life doesn’t give much consideration to those hours of night and shadow.

I’m figuring you think that makes me a serious coffee drinker. Not really. We were gifted a coffee machine a little while ago when a friend upgraded theirs (I’m pretty sure it’s here for their visits 😏). I do prefer its rich vibe to the jar of instant, though. On the mornings when the call is for coffee, I drink it black—once with a splosh of vanilla syrup, until maple syrup came along and ruined me in the best way. For that pure morning alchemy: black coffee, maple syrup in a favourite mug. 
On those mornings when I crave something softer I brew a homemade maple dirty chai. I will never turn one of those down.

This year’s winter, I began with a different kind of fire: fresh squeezed orange juice, grated ginger, honey and hot water—a bright, spicy elixir that woke up more than my body. Not every morning calls for it, when it does though, it feels like sunlight you can drink.

These small rituals don’t make me a morning person; they make mornings mine.

Belonging, I’m learning, isn’t always found in the grand gestures.
Sometimes it’s the quiet claim you make with a mug in hand—the moment you decide this is how I greet the day, in my own rhythm.
Each sip, each scent of maple or ginger, reminds me that I still belong to myself, even when the world rushes elsewhere.
That’s the real rhythm of morning: not the alarm clock’s demand, but the steady heartbeat of choosing presence instead—again and again.