Sundays.
Sundays are challenging. Mine is just beginning, already I've gone through three moods. One: Oh no, another day. Two: Well, I'll keep my nose in something and stay busy, won't be so bad. Three: Oh, look who it is! Wasn't expecting that - how nice.
Besides, the birds are now starting in on their morning choir practice, and they don't seem to care whether it's Sunday or Wednesday. Even the landscape will soon switch from monochrome to color, once the sun wakes up.
Sunday, July 9
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1 comment:
I'm not a bird, I just wait with bated breath till she returns. The morning birds remind me of the triviality of human love. Naure carries on. Colors shift hues and tone. But the whie, I sit and dream of her, of a life together, Even the raw elements of nature cannot curb that impulse. Love is stronger than life,
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