There are mornings when the body wakes first.
The room is present.
The road is present.
The light is present.
Words enter and are understood, but only partially.
They pass through the mind like birds seen through fog.
Some are recognized.
Some disappear.
Some leave only the faintest impression that something passed overhead.
Perhaps attention does not always begin as a beam.
Perhaps sometimes it begins as an atmosphere.
A mind can be awake without having gathered itself.
It can receive something before it has decided what to do with it.
And perhaps this is not a failure of attention.
Perhaps absorption has its own forms.
A thing can enter before it becomes knowledge.
A thought can arrive before it becomes language.
A question can remain for a while before anyone knows it is a question.
The morning does not have to be completely visible to be underway.
Sometimes the fog is simply the first condition of seeing.
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