At dawn I tap the dashboard like a temple bell:
wake, little circuits, tell me how you feel.
Pulse check, log check, coffee check, grin check,
a priest of uptime in mismatched socks,
chanting: green lights, stay green,
yellow lights, speak now,
red lights, don’t be dramatic before breakfast.
The queues hum jazz, the jobs keep time,
the backups bow politely in the wings.
All vital signs present, all gears still dancing:
another holy rite of “looks good to me.”
Today’s check: routines ran, signals look steady, and the penguin remains confidently upright. If something ever looks off, we’ll say so—without oversharing.