Friday, November 21, 2014

What Sundays are Made of...

I am fully aware that it is Friday night and not Sunday. I've come to look forward to the days where
there is no where to be and nothing to do. When is the last time you let the day wind around you without putting any expectation or plan into it?

Let tomorrow be that day--even if only for an hour. Step out of your head and lead with your senses. What does the day taste, smell, and feel like?

What Sundays are Made of
Sundays are long cat stretches
and a late morning breakfast of
warm and sweet oatmeal
with butter in the bottom of the bowl

Sundays are toys flung
to every corner of the house
and half painted canvases on easels
with forgotten painting water
knocked over by a space rover gone rouge

Sundays are warm towels just out the dryer
and the smooth slide of the iron
back and forth, back and forth
across the sheets
and clothes laying in drawers like soldiers

Sundays are PJs ‘til noon
cups of hot tea and tendrils of incense
climbing toward the dining room light
and playing board games at the table

Sundays are chilly walks to the bakery
for day old bread and oatmeal cookies
for blue jay sightings and dog petting
and feet dragging in leaf mountains

Sundays are skipping naps to rake leaves
in the mid-afternoon’s sun
and making leaf forts
before the evening frost settles in

Sundays are for too late movies
and fast food dinners
for finishing just one more chapter
in your favorite book

Sundays are ending the evening
with another poem, a cat curled along side,
and that last hot cuppa
with this morning’s tea bag