The Beauty of Slow Mornings

I wake with ease, no urgent call,

No need to rush, no tasks to haul.

The sunlight peeks through softened skies,

A gentle gift that warms my eyes.

I rise with care, not bold or fast,

Let morning’s peace and stillness last.

A cup of tea within my hands,

The quiet time my soul commands.

I read a page, just one or two,

A thought, a scene, a point of view.

Sometimes a podcast fills the air,

With calming words or wisdom rare.

I lace my shoes, step out the door,

My feet find rhythm on the floor.

A walk that’s slow, not meant to race,

Just breath and breeze and open space.

Then on the mat, I find my ground,

With steady breath and movement sound.

Mobility through limb and spine,

Preparing this strong frame of mine.

No emails yet, no hurried call,

Just me, the morning, and that’s all.

The world can wait, the noise can pause,

This space is mine, without a cause.

For in this pace, I feel my strength,

Not measured by the task or length.

But by the grace of time I take,

To breathe, to move, to slowly wake.

These mornings build a gentler kind

Of energy that clears the mind.

Not wasted hours, but deeply true,

A gift I give myself anew.

Slow starts, they say, won’t get you far.

But I’ve found peace in where they are.

They fill me up before the race,

With grounded heart and steady grace.