I sit on the chaise loungesipping a solitary mimosa,
soaking in the sun
like a clever cat.
And then a load of "I shoulds"
washes over me
like unwashed laundry.
I should deadhead the David Austin roses.
I should decapitate the Shasta daisies.
I should pour sunflower seeds into the bird feeder.
I should, but I don't.
Instead, I stroke the cat,
sip my mimosa and
fall asleep in the sun
with no regrets.
Instead, I stroke the cat,
sip my mimosa and
fall asleep in the sun
with no regrets.
[Anyone who has seen me in the last three weeks knows that I've been in a frenzied, accomplish-everything-you-can-before-manic-Monday mode. Aren't you relieved that I slowed down today?]
3 comments:
You remind me of Grandma. She would work 6 days a week like she was fighting snakes. But on Sunday, we used to sit on the front porch and watch the cars go by. I always liked the sound of vehicles going across the wooden floor of the bridge...a rhythmic blump, blump, blump. We would have a glass of ice tea placed on the banister in front of us. It seems there were always "rings" left behind on the banister from the glasses being placed there. A nice slow creak of the porch swing provided a natural metronome. If you recall, Grandma's front porch was the coolest place around, with natural air conditioning from 2 big sugar maples. Ahhh....a slight breeze and occasional rustling of leaves, it's no wonder we would congregate there. Do you remember Grandma eventually nodding off (and I do mean nodding) for a short catnap with the Sunday newpaper on her lap? I think I have a picture of her sitting in "her" chair, off in slumber land. Glad you took a well deserved repose and hope you master the fine art of napping. It has it's place.
Ahhh - I can still hear the sound of cars crossing the wooden bridge over the creek (pronounced "crick").
PS The other sound I remember from the front porch was the screech of "peeling out." Now didn't those fools realize that rubber on the road meant less rubber on their tires?
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