PRETEND IT’S SUNDAY

Journal Entry

THOUGHTS™

04–08–2023

︎ Writer: Stew Caldo





Pretend that it's Sunday Morning. Last day of freedom before everything caves in. The calm before the storm.


Play something dumb, like Jack Johnson or John Mayer. Maybe a bit classier, like Wede Harer Guzo or Piero Umiliani.


Make some coffee. Take extra liberties with the honey. Really pour it on.


Feed the dog. Dance with the dog. Feel the sunshine. The wind blows. It whispers, then yells "Spring".


Sit down. Begin to write.


Think about love. All the love you have.


Love for her.


Love for friends.


Love for your dog.


Love for beer.


Think about the sunshine. And the wind. That you've felt before.


In Milos. In Santorini. As the sun set over a different side of the earth, and the wind fought hard. You were with her, in a pool, with white wine.


In Kauai, on a mountain. Cracked mud drying now on your heels.


In the Meadow, that one Sunday a year ago. The grass blowing. Trees swaying.


Think about all you want to do.


The photos you want to take.


The people you want to meet.


The home you want to buy.


The life you want to live.


And remember.


You're still here, sitting down on the sofa. With your dog. And your coffee.


Pretending it's Sunday Morning.