The Rhythm of Routine

The sun, still yawning and stretching its golden fingers across the rooftops, found Leo already at Mrs. Gable’s doorstep. He clutched the worn strap of his backpack, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation bubbling in his chest. This was it. The steady gig. The one that felt less like a wild, unpredictable chase and more like a gentle, flowing river.

Mrs. Gable’s door creaked open, revealing her warm, crinkly smile. “Leo, my dear! Right on time, I see. Punctuality is the first step to a well-tended garden, you know.” Her voice was like the rustle of autumn leaves, soft and comforting.

Leo beamed. “Morning, Mrs. Gable! Ready to get started.”