Seven Degrees Left of Center

Warming Up

There’s something honest about a slow-start morning.

The brain doesn’t spring up shouting, “Seize the day!” It rolls over, squints at the clock, and wants five more minutes and a carburetor adjustment.

I picture an old truck on a cold morning. You turn the key. It coughs. Pauses. Decides if you’re serious. Then rumbles to life, reluctantly.

No warning lights. No smoke. Just a polite mechanical grumble that says, “We’ll get there. Relax.”

Outside, the sky is blue and pink at once, undecided on its mood. The sun stretches over the horizon, unrushed. No problem. No announcement. Just light arriving.

Slow isn’t broken; it’s just warming up. I don’t need fireworks before sunrise, only a steady idle and a good cup of coffee for quality control.

Not yet a good brain day. Promising, though—the engine’s catching, vibrations evening out.

The road is ready, and so am I.