It's 6am and something stirs in me- I don't want to be up so early. That strange in between feeling, sleepy and awake at once, blood moving in my legs as if to carry me somewhere. I can't ignore the moon. She is drawing me in. I put my coat on, and walk to the balcony, and snap a photo- a way to reach for connection, to remember. Below me, the river carries her light, in a single line, straight toward where I am standing. Not scattered everywhere. Contained within the bluene

I like the beginning of each new day. It's like the blank page of a journal: open and spacious, waiting to be written with each thought, feeling, and step I take. There is no wrong or right step. It's about choosing the step that makes sense to my being. How do I know what makes sense to me? It's a combination of having a morning ritual and feeling the newness of each day. Part of my ritual is brewing a fresh pot of coffee and stepping into nature. Alongside my cup of coffe