Morning Messenger

Morning, when the air is still cool and the world seems to be just waking up and testing its voice. Somewhere outside the window, birds are singing - not because they are in a good mood, but simply because that's how it is: a new day has begun, which means you can live, breathe, and try again. In this sound there is a calmness that you don't need to search for, it's just there.

Everything around is still imperfect: somewhere it hurts, somewhere it's cold, but there is a feeling that someone is carefully raising the sun above the horizon just for you. Everything that happened yesterday seems to be washed away by the morning dew, and all that remains is quiet gratitude - not for great deeds, but for the very fact that you can start over. Every day. Like birds - just singing, not because it's easy, but because you're alive.