A Short Tale of Quiet Rituals and Tender Moments

Outside, it is cold, humid, and windy; the winter darkness slowly transforms into the first morning light. Inside, I wake up and watch the solid, white-painted beams that support the roof. Luna has been awake for hours, jumping on me a few times, asking for attention and cuddles, or walking downstairs to return only minutes later and inform me of her discoveries.

But now, she is as quiet as me. The condensed windows still hide the world from my view. Luna sits on the window sill and proudly reveals a small spot where she's licked away the dampness, offering a glimpse of the world's first colors. The world beyond remains veiled, but Luna's morning artistry brings a touch of warmth.

After I get up, our roles reverse, and Luna will soon go to sleep. But first, I will make a cup of tea and read what happened in the world while I slept. It's the moment that Luna inspects the small garden. Then she asks me to let her in again, jumps on the couch, grooms herself, and falls asleep when I make my first cup of coffee.

Our unspoken agreement resembles a changing of the guard ritual that plays out every morning this holiday.

And neither of us wants it any other way.