Sundays

I've slept just late enough then to have my fill, but not enough for my unconsciousness to spill over into the useful portion of my day and I, unhurriedly, go downstairs with my bag half as heavy, and my step with just a little more flutter. By now I'm usually rushing, but I'm not anxious; there's nothing pushing me ahead from behind.

On a Sunday, early in the day, but not too early - let's say around 11, but not later than 1- the people you see together then are really together. There's an overwhelming feeling of families with sleepy kids and couples that are in that place where they're content just reading side by side in bed in their favorites pairs of pajama pants. With each other they're on their way somewhere, because you don't just go and have a good homecookin' brunch in an unestablished relationship. It steadily feels sunnier on a Sunday early afternoon, a few degrees warmer than it ever is, even when my skin has been made damp and cold on the walk over.

I am on my way to meet you and we don't yet know where it is we're going. There are so many places to go today, but we'll just pick one small space to occupy and today those places will be visited by more than one at once, just before we're split by Mon-Fri again tomorrow.