“Sunday Blues”

Fiction. Based on a True Change of Seasons.

By Willow

All journal entries are inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Sunday: the day of the week before Monday and following Saturday, observed by Christians as a day of rest and religious worship and (together with Saturday) forming part of the weekend

On Sunday: Some drink coffee, some drink tea; a novel with breakfast of eggs and fresh pancakes; sit to write; bright sunshine to warm your skin; bells in the distance; yogurt for lunch; music in the afternoon; vegetables for dinner; watching the stars at night.


On Sunday: Antique bookstores and cozy coffee shops; bells in the distance; visiting friends; slick leaves of different colours on red brick; jack-o’-lanterns light the paths; social media threatens to kill you; you let go; sit to write; a novel before bed.


On Sunday: Gentle breezes; red apples picked after friends attend Church; long walks in the rain & coffee make for cozy days; while nimble fingers type away; a poem for the lonely; you were lost; I followed the lit path.


On Sunday: Cocoa with breakfast; the first snow is falling; I trade red for blue; crisp and clean air; you threw snowballs; light from the lamppost brightens the white air at dusk; we laugh and the snow falls on our tongues; The Nightmare Before Christmas playing before bed; I ignore the disingenuous texts.


On Sunday: Black coffee and biscuits for breakfast; grimy air of an old library; blue-grey skies begging for rain; a cup of hot soup for lunch; a hipster post on Tumblr; a text message to make your eyes hurt; dusk is when I watched you die; sitting hopelessly at a bowl of pasta for dinner; a car ride headed north for a sliver of hope.


On Sunday: a gentle breeze; blossom petals learn to fly; falling on wet red bricks in the spring rain; something feels dangerous; fiddle music fills the days; poems for the lonely before bed; a prayer for the day of rest.