Before Light

In the blue hour, when shadows still dream themselves into being, the world holds its breath.

A cardinal lands on winter branches, shakes the frost like bells no one asked for.

The kitchen fills with steam, with the smell of ordinary things: coffee, salt, the earth's own patience.

I watch my hands move— small ghosts from yesterday, gathering tomorrow.

Outside, the trees wait. They've been waiting all night, roots locked in dark certainty.