There is an hour that almost no one truly inhabits
by yannickcostechareyre
Reflections
The first hour of the morning is a territory.
We cross it every day.
Most often without seeing it.
We get up already behind ourselves.
The screen speaks before we do.
The day begins without our having entered it.
A threshold, not a corridor
The morning is not a corridor to rush through to reach the “real” day.
It is a threshold.
A passage between two worlds.
That of sleep, that of action.
To enter it too quickly is to arrive somewhere without having left.
What we cross without seeing
The light, at this hour, has not yet chosen its colour.
Sounds are rare, and each one counts.
The body is slow, but the mind is strangely clear.
This is the moment when we could decide who we will be today.
Before others decide it for us.
Slowing the crossing
To inhabit the first hour does not require getting up earlier.
Only not crossing it at a run.
A few minutes are enough:
– a coffee watched as it steams
– a window, for a long while
– the silence before the noise
– a single thing, done slowly
The journey begins here
The journey, sometimes, does not begin at the airport.
It begins here.
In this tiny territory we cross too quickly.
And which, nonetheless, gives its colour to everything else.