Sunday, January 13, 2013

sundays

Sundays.
A day of rest...how to spend it?  We begin with pancakes.  What other breakfast says rest more than a carb coma?  Then we go to the gym, so we can wake up again, and to our un-church so we can rest once more and contemplate our navel in the wide company of similar minded minions. Then we eat, somewhere, before a visit to the library where I tithe money for late fees and pray before an alter of books stacked and numbered neatly into rows.  And finally we return home, often by way of the grocers.
In the presence of children, bickering and frolicking, I often make something...today it was maple-walnut granola, before I enforce 45 minutes of quiet time.  Everyone withdraws to their own corners (the youngest member of our household requires multiple reminders).  In these stolen moments I retire to my latest boon of books...delicious, delirious, hungry.  Today my stack looked like this:
I was only able to devour one book of poems by Deborah Digges. It was ambrosia on the tongue, sensual, delicious.  
Here is an appetizer:
"We crept the cliffs and sang the peasant's clock,
a rainbow locked, diphthong of lust,
peacocks' fanfare,
voices outrun the holy.
And thus we called the mighty in."
-- Deborah Diggs

Still to come...a trampoline park...dinner and bed.
Sundays.

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