Sunday Mornings

The quiet of a Sunday morning.

The house is still asleep.

As outside rain tumbles from low, soft clouds.

The aroma of blueberry muffins

and the sound of distant cars implant in my memory.

I sink into the soft leather couch with my notebook,

hoping to catch my thoughts

as a curious wide-eyed puppy appears looking for his human.

I smile as my simple pleasures unfold,

and my thoughts drift to you my love...

still lost in your hazy, quiet dreams.

Ghosts of past and present drift by like butterflies on the wind,

their soft colored wings beating on my soul this morning.

I silently thank God for another quiet, unruffled day.

Soon appointed duties force me to rise, but I

save these memories in the folds of my heart to recall another day.

I love the quiet cracks in time on rainy, Sunday mornings.

                                                                      Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011