Breathe

I wake up, groggy and out of sorts. The sky is gray, the house quiet and the mat is calling. How will my body respond this morning? Do I drag my ass out of bed or do I turn the first alarm off and get an extra 45 minutes of snooze time? My body is craving the movement, my mind is craving sleep - which one wins?
Movement.
I add baggy pajama bottoms to a t-shirt and stumble into the living room. The TV is turned on mute 'till I find a mellow music station. I can't abide commercials before coffee.
I dig through a drawer to find a stick of incense - something light and spicy. Once lit it gets tucked into a holder on the mantle.
I unroll the mat. Face the window. I sit and breathe. Slowly the movements come, each one building on the last, each one in concert with the breath. My breathing accelerates and threatens to run away with the movement, my heart pounds. I slow down and let my breath catch up with the movement.
The movements have evolved, in the beginning it felt like there were bits of fishing line holding my joints back. Now the larger tendons and muscles feel the stretch. I try for the perfect expression of the pose, but I take whatever my body will give. Ever grateful. Patience, while not a virtue I normally possess, is something I've learned to live with here. If I go to fast, push too hard, I will loose what I've gained.
Distractions tiptoe through, a cat that wants to show me how to properly stretch and assumes that my hands near the floor are available to scratch ears. I pause. I find the joy in the distractions. It's the universes way of saying enough.
I breathe.