Sunday grass

The green needles below me

Caress and welcome

This moment of uncertainty.

I am a surrender

to the power of nature

And i now navigate

With a wind of change and no thoughts.

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Tired hands

Refill these hands

That worked hard and bled today

To add beauty and respect

To old clothes.

Hands not smooth and not shy

That travel quick through the stitches

And join the borders of a hot Sunday.

Give them water, a shake, and a rest

In your lap

Until fresh again.

Monday theft

My stomac bumping,
My breathing getting short
Tell me another Monday is coming.
In its simplicity,
A single day can grab the freedom
of the whole weekend.
Time spent walking
Among flowers and mountains,
The curious stirring for an exotic dish,
The calls with the lived ones
Get immediately sorted as memories,
Once the Monday comes.