Sundays

  I love the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday. People sleep in, the graceful go to church. The air swells with the absence of traffic, as natural as it was before the revolt of industry. You can hear the birds and trees swaying in the wind more clearly. When you run, clouds can watch you without the film of light pollution. When you read, the words speak to you more carefully. You aren't thinking so fast that the day falls into a forgetful cavity. You savor the moments, the quiet solitude that enhances reflection, the fun and meaningful events you attended with family. God's goodness shines on the slow things you do, methodically and lovingly, in full realization of the gifts he gave you. The non-physical is given as much attention as the physical. It is the great reset that prepares you for the next week, a revolution of the clock restructuring the order lost from the chaos of six other days. It is a day of prayer, wonder, communion, all the intangibles we need to function without admitting it. Sunday is the forsaken goddess that soothes us in our stressful slumber. Refreshing fruits of religious harmony reconcile you to the other faiths that preach solace on this special day. It is a holiday about nothing, ignored by the calendars, secretly yearned for by the busy and the pious. Civilization pauses for a splendid seventh of its monopoly on time. The painters and the poets spend their deepest moments meditating on eternal truths unveiled. Weddings produce the most sustainable moment of joy the good Earth will witness. Angels sing to us sopranos of blessedness and love. All is in rhythm, all is bright, all is safe, all is well. I love the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday.