My Sunday morning radio
Plays songs both sweet and sad
Sending my thoughts strolling
Through the youth that I once had
The world "back when" was different
And yet it was the same
We laughed and loved and dreamed.
It all circles 'round again.
Weekend mornings are my favorite times. I usually wake up early, out of habit I guess. The predawn hour is quiet, I turn on a soft, low light and have the local radio station playing just loud enough to hear from the couch nearby. It's this time of day more than any other that, armed with a mug of tea and a blanket, I let my thoughts run free. I write poetry, mostly in my head and write down only one and not every time. Some are simply thought, maybe wistful wishes that form and then dissipate as smoke in the wind. Sometimes I get an hour or more for myself, without anything pressing to do. As long as Hillary remains asleep I have this treasured quiet time to myself.