1 July: The weather turned on Sunday. Saturday was hot. Sunday the wind changed, and the clouds rolled in. Then it rained. Heaven opened, and drowned us.
THE WIND CHANGED ON SUNDAY
I remember Sundays as sin-free.
I’d put on my best dress.
My best shiny black shoes.
A bit of small change in my pocket
for the offering plate.
After church, a drive in the car
was the family tradition.
Out into the countryside.
Dad would say, “Ah, smell that.
I love the smell of cow.”
And I’d gag in the backseat,
and my sister would pinch her nose.
Not sure where Dad’s love of cow
came from. He was a city boy.
But he’d laugh a riot, as Mom
looked out the car window unfazed.
My Sundays are quieter nowadays.
Certainly less fragrant. A newspaper,
a cup of tea, and my favourite chair.
©️ Misky 2019.