Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

On a Sunday mornin' sidewalk,
Wishin', Lord that I was stoned.
`Cause there's nothin' like a Sunday,
To make a body feel alone.

And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound.
Of a sleepin' city sidewalk,
And Sunday mornin' comin' down.

Kris Kristofferson

Probably one of my favorite songs of all time. I understand it. I have felt it. I have lived it. I know the loneliness in every line. It's not a song about lost love or anything, but rather that of being totally isolated, in a place where you don't really belong or fit in.

I have lived in and around some of the bigger cities of the world, but never really felt at home there. Always felt like a guest; an outsider. People running around doing this and that, cars and buses roaring by, honking horns, sirens, jackhammers. I felt like I was caught up in a flooded stream, being swept along, pushed and battered, sometimes going under.

By Saturday night, my heart would be pounding and the blood ringing in my ears. I waited all week long for Sunday mornings, my personal, private island in this river of confusion. Only when the streets were sleeping, was it quiet enough to find the things I was familiar with.

I love Sunday mornings. Might be my favorite time of the week. Not overly religious -- no plans for church or anything. I just claim Sunday mornings for "me time".

I try to get up extra early on Sunday morning. Seems most other people prefer to sleep in, which makes it all the better for my private time. I can do whatever I want. No phone calls, no company, no distractions.

I like to take a cup of coffee and sit on the porch before daylight. Sit there and listen to the early morning sounds, feel the coolness of the night, smell the damp grass.

I like to watch the sky slowly get lighter in the east and wake up the birds. I like to watch the sun come up and not just be aware that somehow, it's daylight now. There is always a small breeze as the solar winds begin to do their thing. Kind of like Mother Nature's alarm clock. The sounds of night creatures are slowly replaced by those who work the day shift. There is something almost sacred in the moment night becomes day.

I like to watch the cattle slowly stand, stretch and begin picking at the grass at their feet; some 'ol cow bawlin' for her calf to come suck his breakfast.

I like to feel the day start to warm in the sunshine, the dew on the grass and tobacco leaves slowly disappearing in the sun and breeze.

I take a few extra moments to spend some time with my dog, pat his head and tell him how good he's been all week. I think he waits for Sundays, too.

Might take a walk through the wet grass down to the pond and watch the ducks at work there and see if any big fish jump.

I like a big breakfast on Sundays. Biscuits and gravy, fried eggs, sausage or bacon, fried apples, tomatoes, cantaloupe, fried potatoes and grits. And if I can eat another bite, the remaining cat-head biscuits will disappear with some honey and butter. I don't seem to get this very often as the main ingredient is missing, a good woman to fix it. But I think that will work itself out of its own accord and in its own time.

All good things must come to an end, as they say, and Sunday mornings are no different. Sooner or later that phone’s gonna ring or I'll see somebody comin' up the drive makin' the dust fly. I'll realize that my little escape from the day to day goings-on has ended. But it’s ok, that stuff is important, too.

It will be another seven days ‘til next Sunday morning and Lord only knows what the week ahead holds. But no one will ever know what a grand time I had this morning. It'll just be me and God's little secret.

Copyright © 2007 WML


Kentucky Dreamer said...

I enjoy every morning but Sundays are special. I love waking up early.
That big breakfast sounds good too.

Have a nice weekend!

Fabian G. Franklin said...

I like this and I just love Kris. Check out "Love is the Way" by him on YouTube Mike, you won't be sorry. It is the best song I've heard to describe how I feel. I know you'll love it. Kris is a true poet.