I often wish that I had a dedicated morning routine— not just the kind of wake up, take a shower… thing that I do on a daily basis, but a routine or ritual that was intentionally planned and designed to set a specific tone for the day. I’m envious of people who have the discipline to wake up at 5 a.m. to do yoga or write or work out or meditate. I haven’t made it enough of a priority in my life yet, so it hasn’t happened.
Now that it’s a bit warmer, I’ve been making a small step. Most mornings, when I pour my first bit of coffee or let the dog out, I step out onto the porch. I don’t necessarily spend more than 30 seconds out there, but it’s enough that I close the door behind me, take a look around, feel the weather, and listen. It’s been especially exciting because the birds are back and if I go outside after it begins to get light, the woods are so loud after the immense silence of winter snow.
This morning was particularly foggy. And the birds were singing. I can only recognize a handful of birds by sound (if that many); this morning I could hear the songs of about 6 different kinds of birds, but except for chickadees and robins, I couldn’t tell you what else is out there. Other than that, silence.