This morning the light came in soft and golden, spilling across the kitchen table like it had something to say.
I made pancakes for no reason at all — just because it felt right. There’s something about Sunday mornings that invites you to linger: over coffee, over conversation, over the simple act of being home.
After breakfast, I wandered outside and noticed the garden needed tending. A few herbs had gone wild, and the tomatoes were nearly ready. I picked what I could and tucked the rest back under the leaves. It felt good to get dirt under my nails — grounding in every sense of the word.
The rest of the day will probably be slow — maybe laundry, maybe a walk, maybe nothing at all.
But that’s the beauty of Sunday: it doesn’t ask for productivity.
It just asks you to show up for your life — fully, quietly, and with a heart that’s paying attention.