Not another task, but a tender pause — a softer way to wake, where the first moments of the day belong only to you. Before the noise, before the rush, there is this quiet space: unhurried, unclaimed, waiting to be noticed. Here, ritual is not about perfection or productivity, but about presence — the simple act of marking small beginnings, of opening your eyes to the light as it shifts across the room, of letting yourself arrive without demand. In these softened minutes, the day does not press against you; instead, it unfolds at your pace, carrying you gently from the hush of night into the slow clarity of morning.