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.

Gorge cold

Invisible and hard,
The cold of this gorge reaches me
And swipes away
the comfort of this Sunday.
Nature touches me
and like a stream Refills my hands.

Lake Sunday

The crowd surrounds me
and the water splashed while I lay
Dried in the sun of a lazy Sunday.
The last glimpse of summer
condenses in drops on my skin
while the green landscape lingers.

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.

Sunday evening

Each second a treasure
On Sunday evening
When the outside goes dark
And the sofa is what counts.
No space for worries
No space for proteins
No space for experiments
In the present.