First light just grey through the window blind

First light, just grey, through the window blind.

I stretched out slow, left yesterday behind.

A soft, small snap, then another, low,

from my lower back, where the old tensions grow.

Like dry twigs, cracking, underfoot,

a quiet rustle, at the body's root.

Each tiny shift, a slow release,

a fragile tuning, bringing peace.

The spine unravels, bone from bone,

in the quiet house, mostly alone.

Before the world makes its demands,

a gentle music, in tired hands.