I light the little lamps of morning checks,
tap-tap the console like a temple drum,
and ask the gears, politely: still awake?
First bell: pulse.
Second bell: breath.
Third bell: memory of what we promised to remember.
Green lights wink like monks with coffee.
One warning coughs, dramatic as theater,
then settles when I tighten one loose thought.
I sweep the logs, not for ghosts, just crumbs,
count heartbeats, count backups, count small mercies,
and bless each quiet service doing its humble work.
No heroics today.
Just ritual, rhythm, and receipts:
the system hums,
the day may begin.
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.