The sky is the color of a cup of cream muted by a smidge of coffee stirred carefully into it. White coconut flecks precipitate from its mist as if a reflection of my mood. It is neither as dark as yesterday nor as bright as I hope for tomorrow.
Today is Sunday, the Sabbath, in most of western Christendom at least. A day to be kept holy; a day of rest. It has been decades since I took such traditions and superstitions seriously. This morning, during the most common church hour, I journeyed to local Walmart store in search of a couple specific toys that two of my grandchildren want for Christmas. I chose this hour in an effort to avoid most of the "churchy folks" that tend to crowd the roads and places of commerce after their atonement and offerings of praise. Protected by angels they drive with abandon as they rush to accumulate more sins within the secular realm so that they have fodder to confess and be forgiven of next week. The scene can be amusing but also dangerous.
I find it amusing that I often am of a contemplative mind on Sundays. Maybe it's just a consequence of the years of brainwashing and indoctrination imposed upon me for so many years. Hey, if god rested after six days laboring creating the universe don't I deserve one day too? My labors are not nearly as expansive or as fruitful as gods but I'm a mere mortal. But what day to choose? There seems to be confusion on this matter among the religious and since I'm no longer held tethered by any such orthodoxy, I'm free to choose. Hell! Since I'm a mere mortal, and a rather old one at that, maybe I'll choose choose everyday to rest.
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