sing a song of sunday sun

The sun shines and strives to break through this incessant cold air. It’s the 7th of April and the temperature has just risen from −2 degrees to somewhere around zero. I have awoken from tumultuous dreams of immense complication. Dreams in which I dragged the one I loved from an icy river only to be rejected and then to struggle against the police, computers, cars and shoes. It’s a day that seems to pave the way to a certain doom. This afternoon could bring elation or crushing despair… and riding in the wake of this afternoon comes that sunday night dread of what is to follow. Those endless questions of what and where and why? And so I sit here in bed, listening to the Weakerthans, the sun beating deceptively against the curtain, and all seems calm and well and pleasant. The day stretches out ahead with an early promise and I refuse to accept that it will turn out to be as meaningless and as empty as other sundays.

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