Sunday Morning

Sunday morning rises like mist in the mind...Sunday morning comes slow...Sunday morning rises like an ocean...Sunday is a mountain...

I describe this blog as the chronicle of the writing life, and often it is...yet often I stray...though when I stray it's still a blog of how this writer sees the world...

Sunday morning drops on your heart like syrup...Sunday comes in slow drops of sugared water...I walk in the solace of Sunday...

I lived in Vermont for almost a decade...Vermont is the Sunday of America...

New Jersey is the Sunday news paper...I drop in on the morning like slow light drops on a canopy of trees, invading the under-story of life...

Good Sunday writing could save the world...It's crazy I had five things to write about this morning and and Beautiful Holly said why don't you write about Sunday mornings...

So Sunday entered the mind, and I entered morning...and light rained down...

The mind is focussed on the intensity of seeing things...searches total freedom...my mind erects an unfinished system of knowledge that collapses upon itself...I spiral out into water and growth...

I have stories to cover, one later today, meetings with connects in public relations, print, graphic design, and book making world this week and next...I need this to congeal...my energy needs to wrap around my work like Sunday morning energy...

I'm looking forward to this entire Autumn season, till the last leaf drops, leaving our lives bare and naked...

I'm looking forward to Winter for the first time in a long time...I'm attracted to the heart of winter...the desperate absurdity of the season that energizes man to rule the seasons of his life...

Tonight I will visit poetry...an essay...something creative...tonight I will grab the ladle and stir my Sunday evening...

I'm ready to walk out my front door and walk in the sugar of life...I want to walk in the colorful light of the chill morning...

all things light surround my day...all the people I know are close to my heart...I crack open my rock of a heart and spill myself to the four corners of Earth...

I fly from what has no wings...fly to where there is no end of journey...soar on the wings of Sunday...my eyes resurrect the world...