The Light that lingers
You’ve woken to a softer light today. A pale gold glow slips through the curtains before you are quite ready to rise. The inn has already stirred itself awake. Downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee drifts upward, accompanied by the low murmur of voices, barely louder than the crackle of the fire.
January mornings are gentle here. The world is still half dreaming, and the light takes its time finding every corner of the room. That is how it feels after seasons of noise and celebration. We must teach ourselves how to welcome quiet joy again, slowly.
If you listen, you will hear it. The creak of old floorboards stretching into the day. The steady breath of the house warming itself from the inside out. That is what I love about this place. Even when night has taken everything else, something bright always remains.
I have set a small tray for you by the window. There is tea waiting, steeped with honey and lemon, the color of sunshine caught in glass. A candle burns low and steady beside it. You may notice how its scent softens the space between thoughts, how the flame reflects in your cup like a promise you do not need to name yet.
Sit for a moment before you drink. Let the warmth reach your hands. Let your breath slow enough to match the quiet around you. As the light settles across the floor, notice where it touches you too.
Sometimes, words come easily in moments like this. Not spoken aloud. Just breathed into the space between you and the morning.
You might find yourself thinking,
This month, I call my light home.
I rest.
I heal.
I remember.
Stay a while in the glow. When you open your eyes, the flame may seem brighter. Not because it has changed, but because you have.
Do not chase the light. Let it come. Let it rest against your skin until you remember that it never truly left. Some mornings are not meant for doing. They are meant for noticing.
There will be time later for plans and lists and decisions. For now, it is enough to be here. Warm. Awake. Held by the day as it begins.
Mika
P.S. If you lean close to the window tonight, you might notice faint writing traced across the glass, delicate as frost and gone as quickly as breath. Lady Staywell must have passed through. She has left this behind.
“Light never leaves. It simply waits to be welcomed back.”
She seems to appear for those who choose to stay.