A one-by-two-foot west-facing window sits over the head of my bed. Each day during Quiet Hour, a slab of light slips through it and creeps onto my blanket. This is the signal for my ritual. I place my journal inside the slab so the words gleam on the page. Sunlit words make me feel optimistic. As the sun arcs downward, the slab slides toward the foot of my bed. I inch my journal along with it, so it stays inside of the sun while I write. In order not to block the path of light, I have to kneel on the floor, but I do not mind because this makes it even more of a ritual.