Hello Monday
Hello Monday.
You of normally hurried minutes that diminish rapidly through a hazy time continuum. Today I met you with problems consisting of regular things, yet clouded mind. Money and things and issues and future happenings stirred in my brain this sunny day. Though the sun met me with warmth and color and flowers that were blooming on my porch.
Ordinary days filled with troubles that aren't really troubles.
Ways to meet obligations and fulfill them drift through me,
pressing, gently pushing.
This morning, yet again, I've given it over to the one who knows me, and embraces me still though I've wandered far. Always wandering and wanting something more and different than the light of a regular Monday morning.
Today I work, gather groceries, and scribble poetry in a simple notebook in the dappled light of my porch. My haven and the place where my thoughts come together. A place where the book coming through my heart to my fingers finds purchase, and spills out onto an electronically-organized machine I hold in my lap. I will write these words one inch at a time until they are spent.
I greet you, new week, with messy thoughts and high hopes that will accomplish half of what I normally wish for a refreshed seven days. I will move through each minute and try to make it count. Each word and thought, held captive.
And I begin the day.
You of normally hurried minutes that diminish rapidly through a hazy time continuum. Today I met you with problems consisting of regular things, yet clouded mind. Money and things and issues and future happenings stirred in my brain this sunny day. Though the sun met me with warmth and color and flowers that were blooming on my porch.
Ordinary days filled with troubles that aren't really troubles.
Ways to meet obligations and fulfill them drift through me,
pressing, gently pushing.
This morning, yet again, I've given it over to the one who knows me, and embraces me still though I've wandered far. Always wandering and wanting something more and different than the light of a regular Monday morning.
Today I work, gather groceries, and scribble poetry in a simple notebook in the dappled light of my porch. My haven and the place where my thoughts come together. A place where the book coming through my heart to my fingers finds purchase, and spills out onto an electronically-organized machine I hold in my lap. I will write these words one inch at a time until they are spent.
I greet you, new week, with messy thoughts and high hopes that will accomplish half of what I normally wish for a refreshed seven days. I will move through each minute and try to make it count. Each word and thought, held captive.
And I begin the day.
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