. . . weekends is taking long walks down heaven . . .
. . . holding the Hoyas and marvelling at their beauty
and telling them I truly miss their singing . . .
. . . telling Poinsettia that its OK not to struggle with her red leaves.
That I will always love her in all her colors!
. . . and caressing Mandevilla
dancing to the heat and sudden rains . . .
. . . of blowing kisses to Chicky, our chico tree,
and thanking her for sheltering the birds . . .
. . . and also for Yvon, the avocado tree,
for another great harvest this year . . .
. . . hmmm, where is that guacamole recipe of Denise? . . .
. . . of waving to Petrocelli on the roof
and wishing him a sound nap after lunch . . .
. . . and for my Sweepy and Babur
sleeping while I read the papers
and scan the pages absentmindedly . . .
Weekends are for relaxing
and staying grounded
and breathing deep and long
and not go with any schedule . . .
and capturing my stories
and making do with a camera phone . . . .
. . . of releasing multiple data in my brain
and waiting for the whir of life to stop and pause
and for me to understand the confusion and chaos
of a topsy-turvy week,
and the magic that it holds
and the promise of a breather from the madness . . .
How was yours?