What am I supposed to do

What am I supposed to do
when I wake
to this world
from faded dreams
like
winter daybreak 
veiled in foggy darkness
thirteen point eight
billion years
of potential 
spark inside 
every cell
that I call
myself
before you
praying 
sitting 
in that chair
facing sunrise 
through the window 
each new day
far off
the fog 
shrouded 
trees
know what to do
as their leaves
ready
for the star
called Sun
to prepare 
break fast
while I brew
two cups of coffee
that seem 
a fitting outcome
a tip of the arrow
of time
my time
our time
yet I wonder
if the quiver 
holds  
more arrows.