# Patterns in the Quiet

## Morning's Steady Return

Each day begins the same. The sun edges over the hill, spilling light across the kitchen table. I pour coffee, black and steaming, into a chipped mug that's seen a decade of mornings. These small loops—wake, brew, sip—form the backbone of my weeks. They're not grand, but they hold me steady when the world spins faster. Patterns like these whisper that time isn't a straight line; it's a circle, reliable and kind.

## Threads in the Chaos

Look closer, and patterns hide everywhere. Footprints in fresh snow repeat their stride, a river carves the same bend year after year, even our laughter echoes familiar notes with loved ones. On a walk last week, I noticed how frost traced identical veins on every windowpane—delicate, fleeting designs born from cold air meeting glass. These repetitions aren't accidents. They reveal order beneath the mess, a quiet assurance that beauty rebuilds itself.

## Choosing What Stays

We can't escape patterns entirely. Habits shape us, memories loop back. But we decide which to nurture:
- The weekly call to a distant friend, strengthening invisible ties.
- A nightly pause to name three good things, tilting the mind toward light.
- Letting go of old grudges that replay like scratched records.

In embracing some and reshaping others, life feels less random. Patterns become companions, not chains.

*On December 15, 2025, as winter deepens, may you trace the patterns that ground you.*