Sunday morning. It’s my favorite time of the week. The world is still and quiet. Dreamer and I take a walk around the block feeling like we’re the only people in Chicago.
After walking him and giving him his breakfast, I begin my own breakfast with french pressed coffee. Grinding the beans, seeping the grounds, and pressing the coffee – it’s a ritual that carries me into a reflective state of mind.
I take my coffee and lounge on the couch. I’ll browse and sip, read and sip, or just sit and sip. I love Sunday mornings because I can take in life slowly, like my coffee. The silence. The sun. The smell of coffee and flowers and herbs. I want to try to bring this calm, reflective time into my weekday mornings because Sunday is certainly not enough.
The weekend always slips away too soon. There’s still a little time to savor the last cozy moments, but Monday hangs heavy on the brain. Dreamer tries to claim my bed even though his is literally three feet away, and I shepherd him away to climb in and read until I can wipe my mind enough for bed.