What the Body Knows at Sunrise

The heron stands in April's silver light, one leg folded, patient as the fog lifts from the pilings. This is what attention looks like: a creature absolutely present to the cold water, the slight shift of current, the small life moving below. The sky has that particular April gray, neither promises nor complaints, just the light arriving as it does.

Your body knows things your thinking mind forgets. The fifteen-minute scan asks you to travel inward as the sun travels across the water, listening to what aches, what rests, where breath moves easily and where it hesitates. Not to fix anything. Just to know it.

This morning, notice one thing that stands still.

The Body Scan: Fifteen minutes of listening.