Rainy days and Sundays do not always get me down.
I actually appreciate Sundays more than I appreciate any other of the weekdays. They are mellow days. Morning is occupied by church, and then the rest of the day is mine. To be filled with walks. With reading. With naps. With long, winding trails of conversation traversed by my roommate and me. With baking. With delivering baked goods. With visiting and being visited. And most importantly, with no set schedule. Structure, on Sundays, seems like the sort of thing that only happens in dreams.
And while I don't always appreciate rainy days, rainy days in the spring tend to have the most remarkable calming effect on me. Early snow storms have the same effect on me. Fewer people are out and about, and the world is quiet. So still.
So still--and yet, growing.
It gives me hope.
2 comments:
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Um. Isn't it "Rainy Days and Mondays"?
I know it primarily because my mother sang it to us . . . and she sang "Sundays."
But that doesn't mean she was right.
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