The kettle murmurs its familiar song. Steam curls upward, dissolving into morning light that pools on the countertop like spilled honey. There is no rush -- only this warm, unhurried beginning.

Bare feet on cool tile. The newspaper folded but unread, a cup cradled in both hands. Outside, sparrows negotiate the morning in short, purposeful flights between the hedge and the feeder.

A jacket lifted from its hook. Keys retrieved from the ceramic bowl by the door -- the one with the small chip that makes it yours. The threshold crossed, and the day opens wide.