Not unlike the Room of Requirement – Sunday at my house becomes whatever it needs to be. There’s rarely a plan. It just evolves. Often into nothing more than good coffee, a ramble, the odd picture or two, comfort food and a favourite episode of something on TV to chase away that elusive feeling of foreboding that hangs about a body of a Sunday. I used to feel guilty about our lack of go go go come the seventh day. We never managed to coerce our kids onto the sports fields. Or rather – we did – but it never stuck. Ours much rather the slow, mooching and meandering pace they see in their parents. Lots of lolling about, drinking tea, reading papers, looking at pictures, drinking more tea, staring at walls. We do get dressed though – I’ll give us that. We take the dog for a walk. And we stare at a few more walls. Altogether I think it could be said our Sundays are days well lived. I happened upon this poem a while back. And just this past Sunday I woke early and took some pictures – in an effort to capture the beautiful light that hints at early Summer. Pity I didn’t clean the windows. But that would have been way too non-Sunday of me. The poem spoke to me of just such a morning as this.
Light on the green glass on the mantle piece;
Sun on the stems of flowers magnified under green water;
Firm attitude of books fixed vividly by a sunshaft;
Nothing can change all of this –
Curved and angular things,
Realities to children and to me,
Islanded in this bright Sunday morning.
Tunes to accompany this post:
Sunday Morning ~ The Velvet Underground
St Louis Blues ~ Ella Fitzgerald with Chick Webb & his orchestra at the Savoy Ballroom
A recommended TV remedy for Sunday night blues:
And finally…if you fancy the company of plant life like I fancy the company of plant life…use next Sunday to stroll about the green delights at Mark Grehan’s shop The Garden at the Powerscourt Centre on South William Street, Dublin. Where else!