Ah, the blessed hour between the time I wake up and the rest of the house slips free of sleep.
Quiet. Peace. A chance to read, to write, to meditate, to pray, and — a wonder! — not just hold back entropy, but to make a little progress against it. Worship by making breakfast tacos and picking up stray toys. The solitary liturgy of care for myself and others yet dreaming.
I do not want most of my hours to be this one, but am silently, deeply grateful for this time when it comes.