# Weather Report for the Heart

Morning arrives without applause—
just a thin stripe of light
testing the edge of the curtains,
asking if I’m ready to be seen.

I make coffee. I make promises.
I break at least one of them
on the way to the sink,
where yesterday waits in a stack of plates.

Outside, the sky practices its moods:
a bright grin, a sudden bruise,
wind that combs the trees
like it’s trying to calm them down.

I walk anyway.
The sidewalks keep their secrets—
lost earrings, a leaf shaped like a hand,
a coin turned face-up
as if luck remembered my name.

At noon, I learn the old lesson again:
that people carry storms
in pockets you can’t see,
and still choose to say “hello.”

By evening, the world softens.
Streetlights bloom one by one,
small lanterns for the unsure,
for the almost-brave.

Night forecast:
clear enough to forgive yourself.
Chance of stars.
High probability
you will make it through
another ordinary miracle.