The word ritual, to me, evokes a sense of something that is sacred and beautiful. At first thought, I must admit, I did not think any such thing existed in my mornings. Of course, upon reflection, I happily proved myself wrong.
I wake early, as the stars twinkle their last, and think certain thoughts in the dark. My first cup of tea for the day is taken alone - the silence and solitude of that time is very important to me.
A favourite tea strainer is pulled from its place on the shelf along with a jar of tea leaves, the scent of which comforts me to no end. I lean against the counter and watch the sky lighten through the kitchen window as the water boils, notice the dew on the grass and the birds on the telephone poles while the tea steeps in my favourite cup.
Each morning I sit in the same spot - curled into one corner of the couch, close to the fire and with a view out the front window to our garden, the footpath and the park just beyond. At first the park is filled with fog and kangaroos until slowly both disperse, making way for sunlight, autumn leaves and a troupe of neighbourhood dogs leading their owners to and fro. We all have our own little rituals, don't we?
Perhaps none of this sounds particularly special to you and that is quite all right. The same, small things I do each morning are sacred to me and me alone. My mornings are simple and quiet, and to find happiness in such small things, all before 7am, is a beautiful thing indeed.
*correction to the linked article: I no longer actively monitor the #mymonthofsundays Instagram tag though still heartily encourage all to "reclaim your Sundays, slow them down & fill them with joy". - ka