Sunday Again?

 

Sunday. Thirty, forty years ago, I may have

awoken hungover from a Saturday night before.

For me there were so many hazy awakenings

no matter which day of the week. That problem

had been resolved some ten years ago for

which I am grateful to say.

Sunday. A day of rest? Well, given my age,

my retirement and disabilities, I find rest a

non-discriminate daily necessity, any time,

any day and place.

Sunday. Not burdened or committed as a

believer, worship of any kind is no longer

required. For me in the end, neither heaven

nor hell awaits. I’ve been there, done that

right here on Earth.

Sunday. A day which begins a new week of six

more days to follow just the same, over and again.

Sunday. There will come a day when it and all

the other days of the week will come to an end.

Sunday. No markers or notations left behind.

All the calendars from previous years have

long since been tossed away.

Sunday. To me it appears cloudy and gray.

Who’s keeping track anyway?

                              -30-

Chris Hanch 2-20-2022