Friday Morning Sensory Inputs

The alarm wakes me before the world is ready… a small agreement made with the night.

Inside, it’s warm. Heat rises and so do I, nineteen floors up, wrapped in stillness. Outside, the cold presses its face against the windows, sharp and impatient. Winter waiting.

The air in my apartment holds onto last night. Incense smoke hasn’t fully let go. It lingers in the corners, soft and grounding, like a memory that refuses to rush out.

I move slow on purpose. Sit. Breathe. A few minutes of meditation before the world asks anything else of me. A full glass of water, cool and clean. Then the small rituals. Warm water on my face. Cleanser. Toner. Sunscreen. Hands moving in practiced circles. Nothing wasted. Nothing rushed.

Normally, I’d reach for my bike. Not today.

Baby, it’s cold outside.

Coffee takes time. Whole beans meet the grinder, loud and honest in the quiet kitchen. The smell blooms instantly. Earthy. Nutty. Familiar. I heat the water, set up the pour over, and watch the bloom rise and fall like it’s alive. I add just a touch of sourwood honey. Not much. Just enough to round the edges.

Steam curls upward. I take a sip. Warmth spreads.

Soon I’ll step out into the cold, layers zipped, breath visible, keys in hand. But for now, it’s heat and quiet and scent. A warm apartment floating above a frozen morning. A slow start before opening doors for others.

Brian,

Professional overthinker, semi-professional pizza enthusiast.