Like a big jewelled pendant on the beautiful neck of a passer-by, long weekend Mondays are fast-fading precious gems.
I often wonder what people usually do on such days.
Out of the regular weekend, I definitely prefer Saturdays. They are blessed with the thought of not having to wake up early the day after. Fridays are the next favourite. They too, share the warm thought of a late morning bed rest. But on Fridays I am more tired, less prone to actually go out of my way to do anything that requires anything more than a modicum of effort.
And that leaves Sundays. Because of the looming work week, I treat Sundays more like perky wrap-up days. Especially the afternoons, I like them dearly. My thoughts get cleared, my mind gets set for the next week to come. I don’t dread work weeks. I’m privileged, I suppose, for not moving from weekend to weekend, anxious for time to pass, absorbing too little of the in-between. I find all days have a lot to offer if you’re there to take it.
So I cherish my Sundays and get things in order, set up my house and my mind for what sometimes proves to be a torrential downpour of busy days when clothes start piling up and the sock drawer is empty before laundry is dealt with.
And just when all is figured out, suddenly sneaking around this small routine so tight yet easily ignored, the long weekend Monday flows in yielding. As I welcome it, Sunday fades away, and the sunshine shines brighter.
So I linger pleasantly, immersed, extended, as I cannot but let myself loose and dive into the pleasure of a smooth wine, curled up, backyard and all, in a lazy chair on a soft sunny summer afternoon.
It is for Mondays like this that backyards are worthy of attention, and embellishment and care. Then they ready to take you in and welcome you, give you the power to enjoy the week to come.
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