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Monday mornings have a special silence. Not like that lazy Sunday silence. More like a silence that doesn't yet know what kind of day it will be. I unlock the store and pause for a moment in the doorway. I don't enter immediately. I like that moment the most. No one has arrived yet. Nothing has started. Maybe you know that feeling when a place is just yours for a moment, before it fills with life.
I take off my coat. Turn on the kettle. The first sounds of the day aren't voices but little things: the rustling of paper, the shift of a chair, water hitting the sides of a mug. A ritual that I no longer consciously perceive. The body knows what to do before the mind does. Wipe the table. Arrange the knives. Return things to their place. It's not cleaning. More like setting the rhythm.
Sometimes I wonder why repetitive motions calm us. Maybe because they demand nothing. We don't have to decide. Just be present. Products returned from photoshoots await storage. Some of them go back to the shelves, others to the Toyo Steel boxes for tools, where they have their permanent place.
Orders are being packed in the back. Paper bends over the edge of the box. Tape holds the air momentarily before it adheres. Every package goes somewhere - to a kitchen we will never see, to someone who might open it in the evening after work. There's always something touching about that moment for me. Things leave. The space frees up again.
Meanwhile, the light changes almost unnoticed. It's suddenly no longer morning. Just day. The door opens and the silence dissolves among conversations, questions, and footsteps on the floor. And yet, something of that morning calm remains in all of it. Like a foundation on which the day stands.
Maybe it's a similar moment as in our winter entry Quiet Cold – a moment when things are just coming together.
A little reflection
Have you ever wondered which part of the day is yours? Not the most productive one. Not the one you share. But that small, repetitive moment when things are just coming together. Maybe that's where home begins. Or work that becomes a kind of home.
