It's Sunday morning. I love Sundays. I used to feel like that Johnny Cash song, "there's something in a Sunday that makes the body feel alone." Now when Sunday comes I love it.
I'm sitting, drinking coffee, thinking of all there is to do and then not doing it. My dog is playing outside with another dog and being hilarious. Watching that is enough.
I'm listening to that wonderful melodic kind of music. I close my eyes and just get carried into that other realm where music takes you. I return only when things cross my mind like: "Is someone watching? Is Gus playing in the yard still? Am I going to make it to mass?!" Usually one of those things has gone awry but I've had my transcendental moment for the day.
Moving slowly: that's the key. I let all those worries stack up for Monday morning. It's Sunday right now. I can't think about such things. Sunday falls under a whole new set of priorities. Sunday has its own pace.
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