Sundays

Kenia asked us to write about Sundays.  I thought of my childhood Sundays. There was a regimented  routine, church,  lunch and a long drive.   My Sundays now have a different rhythm-but there is always a peaceful ease about them, when the afternoon arrives.

NEVER ON A SUNDAY

Sunshine tickles me

green wisdom whistles

I pour courage as

muffled voices

n' feet shuffle

 gate opens my

gray garden

Thanks Earl...

Blueberry pillows piled with syrup

saturate mood

I curl up cat like as hound

hovers for his treat

Let's go-honks military mad man

home improvement wishes and 

Iced coffee dreams

Muse hides

Never on a Sunday do I paint

sepia plates of strawberry 

whispers

Music blares

daughter singing Cameo Lover

I join in

folding clothes

I decorate my beagle

he chases me until indigo curtain

falls

Constellation court opens

flag of memories rise

waiting for next Saturday.