Sunday Morning

The sun comes up on yet another Sunday morning. Start the routine for Sunday but it is difficult to tell for everyday is Sunday or days just like it. The difference is there is no mail today.

There are more cars parked on the street for no one has to go to work on Sunday, unless you are a preacher. A few get up early to walk their dogs but there is no sound. A random car drives by ever so quietly on a Sunday morning.

The usual routine begins of reconnecting with the world and events of the night before sleep took you away. The usual putting on the same clothes worn yesterday, picking up keys, cards and phone, but today is special. Different pair of socks is pulled from the drawer. How exciting?

Catch up on silliness communications and drink a mixture of fake sugar, powered cream and instant coffee. The clock says it is time to wander. There is no date to time for the calendar is gone. The only day to remember is the first of the month to pay bills otherwise everyday is the same.

That is except for Sunday morning. Sunday morning everything is quiet. It is peaceful on Sunday morning. The ones who stayed late from Saturday night are now regretting that decision. Those who need spiritual fortification are listening to the writings and interpretations of what they do not understand.

The season is changing, just like everyday changes in the big wide open. The shadows slowly perform their ballet across the carpet of green and the leaves dance in the breezes. Stand and observe but there is too much to see it all.

One neighbor washes his car; another trims some bushes, while another jobs with his daughter on a bike with tassels on the handlebars. Each house on the path has a 30 plus year history of neighbors who have washed their cars and walked their dogs, and raised their children and had cook outs and family squabbles and then moved on.

Trying to remember what needed to be purchased today, a stranger approaches and relays a story of a forgotten deviled crab he had just run over. The little red-haired girl is there, but today’s quest is for blueberries and does not go well. Again there is no fresh fruit so it must be the frozen kind. Luckily they are satisfactory to the fuzzy diners’ palate.

Track forward and then return, taking deep breathes and clearing mind and body, challenging hills and coasting to observe the same sights that constantly change.

The season is changing for the shin on the leaves is dulling and soon they will fall. Acorns are already starting to pepper my way. The winds will pick up and chill and all the plans for summer that never were accomplished will be put back on the to-do list for next season.

For it is just another Sunday morning in Just Another Life.