There’s something peaceful about the sound of a broom brushing across the floor. It’s not just cleaning — it’s like clearing a bit of my mind too. Each stroke feels like I’m sweeping away yesterday’s noise, making space for fresh air to settle in.
I remember growing up, my mother would always say, “Sweep the corners well; that’s where the old day hides.” I never understood her words until adulthood. The corners she meant weren’t just in the room — they were the corners of our hearts where we pile up regrets, old thoughts, and unspoken words.
Now, every morning, when I pick up a broom, I sweep slowly. I think of the people I’ve met, the mistakes I’ve made, and the dreams I still chase. With each motion, I tell myself, “Let go. Start again.”
Funny how something so ordinary can become a quiet ritual of renewal.
