Sunday mornings

I like the descent to the dark, cold kitchen at six in the morning. … My movements at that hour are ritualistic—they vary hardly at all from morning to morning.

E.B. White, Essays of E.B. White, pg. 68

Though the pictured scene isn’t quite a ritual for me yet, it certainly felt like it could become one. The scene White describes is maybe my favourite visual. Whenever films portray it, I indulge. Whenever I catch myself living through one of those ritualistic hours, I smile.