A Diary entry of slow winter day
- Iresha Kariyawasam
- Jul 5
- 4 min read
There is a specific stillness to a winter morning that doesn’t exist in any other season. At 6:00 AM, when the world is still wrapped in a deep, indigo dusk. Waking up early on days like this isn't about rushing into productivity; it’s about claiming the quiet. I slipped out from under the heavy layers of blankets, feeling the crisp bite of the air on my skin, and pulled my thickest knit cardigan tight around me. The house was completely asleep, holding its breath, waiting for the sun.
Stepping into the kitchen, the window glass was cold to the touch, and there were frost on the outside of the glass door this morning. And then, the first sounds of the day broke the silence. Not a roaring awakening, but the soft, rhythmic chirping of a few brave winter birds perched on the bare branches of the oak tree, right infront of our house. It always amazes me how something so small can sound so clear and joyful in the freezing cold—a little reminder that life goes on, vibrant and steady, even in the dead of winter.
In winter mornings like this, one of my favourite things to do is to catch the earliest glimpse of the Sun. I take few moments to stand on the front porch to enjoy this moment. It gives the sense of begining, the hope and the sense of gratitude during that breathtaking early hour.
Next came the most sacred routine of the morning: the coffee time 😊. When the days are this slow, the process shouldn’t be rushed. I started the machine to crush the beans, the rich, earthy aroma immediately cutting through the winter chill as they ground. The steady hiss of the churning milk, the slow, deliberate pour-over stream, and the thickness and the creaminess of the coffee - holding this steaming mug after the meditative procedure, it felt like a wonderful retreat.
As usual, to complete the morning coffee ritual, I sat on my usual outdoor chair to sip my coffee while enjoying the mountain view, birds songs and the light sun rays.
There is a distinct luxury to reading before the rest of the world is fully awake. No notifications were buzzing, and the morning light was just strong enough to illuminate the pages without the harshness of a light. I opened my book, started reading further as the candle burns. Since I was sitting intside by the bay- window, all I could hear was the singing birds and the sound of the heater inside the house. During the early hours, my mind is like a blank piece of paper , making the story feel incredibly vivid—as if you are the only person in the world . I lost track of time entirely, drifting between the world in my hands and the peaceful, frosted view just outside the glass, up until I heard my husband's footsteps.
By the time his coffee was ready, my husband had wandered into the kitchen, wrapped in his plaid flannel robe and looking wonderfully rested. We usually take the advantage of these mornings to have a quality chat about us, the kids, the future plans and for some quiet time as well. Sometimes our conversations may look like low and drifting—sharing fragments of half-remembered dreams, talking about nothing in particular, and planning absolutely nothing for the day ahead. There is a rare kind of intimacy in these quiet, unfiltered morning chats before the noise of the world takes over.
Today's weather was well suited for a morning walk. I stepped out all wrapped up for the colder breeze. The air was biting and sharp, instantly waking up my senses with every breath. The grass on the sides of the walking path was completely silver, crunching beneath my feet with a crisp snap, snap. The world felt entirely mine; the streets were empty, the light was soft and diffused, and my breath formed little clouds of mist in front of me. By the time I came home, my fingers were chilly, and my heart was completely empty.
As the morning light shifts from dawn lights to a bright, crisp gold, the day officially begins. But the beauty of a slow winter morning isn't just in how it starts; it’s in how it carries you through everything that follows. When you anchor your day in quiet moments—the warmth of a mug, the rhythm of a walk, or the stillness of a page—you build an internal reservoir of peace. To stay mindful throughout the day, try to carry that morning pacing with you. When things get hectic, close your eyes for a single deep breath and recall the crisp, cold air of the morning, or take three deliberate seconds to appreciate your afternoon coffee just like you did the first cup. By letting the morning's stillness stretch into your afternoon, you transform a simple routine into a portable sanctuary, keeping you grounded no matter where the day takes you.
I hope my slow morning story resonates with you. If you would like to add onething from mine to yours, let me know about it down below in a comment.
With loads of love
Iresha Kariyawasam
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Most of the time I felt that you are the luckiest lady in this world.