Sunday is childhood, the changing seasons, school the next day, family breakfast, homework, falling leaves, apple hill. Sunday is family, newspaper scattered in different sections throughout the living room. Sunday is walking the dog the long way round, potatoes with garlic and bell peppers, the sofa with my manuscript, yoga pants, dog squished up against me. Sunday is a couple hours’ solitude. Sunday is a drive up the hill for dinner outside, one big family, laughing, crying, together.
Sunday is life without tomorrow, life with tomorrow, life now. Sunday is sacred. Sunday is old and new, happy and sad, nostalgia and duality. Sunday makes me hold on tight to everyone I love.
Sunday is family.