Today is a Sunday, and today is a beautiful day to be alive
Wake up… sniffle and sneeze, wheeze, as your body wakes to the reality of dust inhalation
A dusting across beds and throws, from heads on pillows
It is a hazy start. The mind clear, but a mucus filled nose endlessly dripping

Yoga is next on your list
Yoga is key, relax the body
But it’s hard to feel free in positions like dog, or cat, or tree…..
If the mucus inside makes it harder to breath

Yoga complete, what a feat, what a way to be starting your day
Slide your hands downs your legs and then grab your big toes
Before crouching in ways that resample a crow; your final, and favourite pose…
And there’s not even any more snot in your nose!

Walk. Float. Past the hammock, down the stairs, and out onto the path.
Perhaps a long route back past the old house
Descend only slightly, and select an inefficient route through the olive trees
Increase your changes of seeing a rabbit, or a mouse
Perhaps that red breasted bird that perches fleetingly on the disused washing line

Enter the house, see who is there, only josh in his bed with his crazy new hair
Its late. Its 9:36, and you normally eat just a little past 8, but wait…
Today is a Sunday
A day of rest! No work on a Sunday!
The day of the Lord you might think to your self
Hardly one’s fault to be raised in the throes of a dogmatic cult
But…
Today is a Sunday, and today is a beautiful day to be alive

Josh isn’t hungry and jack is asleep, so breakfast can wait
Negra (the dog). Is. Hungry
She whimpers and sings, with a gurgling moan, in the hope that you might have some food or a bone
But you have set your sights on a lengthy pre-breakfast meditation…
Negra can wait

It’s a cool morning breeze that brings you back
Lost in thought
This time woken by a peculiar song as a gust strikes the eucalyptus beams on the upstairs balcony
Its now 10:38 and you think to yourself that you feel fucking great!
So you walk to your room and remember that nug of your weed that you left in a mug on the side of your bed
Do you need that weed?

Its less about need, and more about want
An inkling that you should appease your desire to be higher than you currently are
You smoke, a tiny, spliff

The day is young. The sun is warm but low
You wait.
Then you walk…
Looking out onto the beach
Searching for the signs of a mid-morning mother collecting stringy sea weed from the high-water mark
But there is nobody there…
Not a bike or a car or a quad so you talk to the air! And she sings back at you

Eyes dampening, corners fill with the beginnings of a tear drop, and you cry
Cry because you can
Cry with the tears that have waited to arrive
Held back by a block that has been there too long, and a ceaseless prolonging of all that was wrong
Tell it “cease and desist and be gone!” don’t let it persist
The time has arrived to be strong and walk out of the mist, so you walk…

With music in your ears, and a distinctly stoned gate
You climb your favourite rock
Watch your favourite tree sway in the same wind
And bask in the light as you dance with your favourite self

Is this the point that we set out to reach?
And by we I mean me but accounting for each of the moments in time that we, have, been…
I am the sum of the parts, all the me’s from the past have necessarily come together
They stand here with me.
And we cry.
As we look upon beauty…

Image Credit: Charlotte Bunney