At this hour the universe is my egg, the sky barely dawning, my plants yearning for a stroke here, a suckering there.
There's another cucumber almost ready in the patch.
The grass is soaked, sticking to my bare feet as I wander the new corners of the garden.
The world is quiet, an occasional car hums past and the leaves of the cherry tree shake as a neighbour slams their door for work.
In my office there is new art on the walls, space for shelves that we will build ourselves, I woke up this morning enthused at the very notion of such a project.
There is email waiting, trumpeting a demand, but this is my universe still, for another hour at least, and demands have not yet begun to clamour nor rocket inside my skull.
Good morning, universe. You feel very good right now.