There’s something about Sunday
a peaceful feeling in the air…
the sky holds a certain kind of blue…
True to the quiet murmurs
the half-hearted ties of loose ends
the whirr of laundry
the labors of yesterday’s pay…
The hum of football
lulling tired men, off to sleep
in creaky LazyBoys…
the distant buzz of a mower, releasing
the sweet aroma of fresh-cut grass…
The sounds of children playing
enjoying the needed pause
from the usual grind of routine…
their only care-
the dreaded call, for a good bathing.
Perhaps it all comes from the palms
of genuine prayers
the silent blessings of churchgoers
painting calm into the day…
there’s just something about Sunday.
The quiet day, after the world was made.