Saturday Silence

image from here

How comforting it is, a morning free of my alarm clock, of my upstairs neighbor's heels, of rushing, of make-up, of nice clothes, of to-do lists, of everything that is every other day.

Saturday mornings are silent. They are full of relief and simplicity.

The day does not impose itself on me, but rather patiently waits for me outside. When I am ready, I can go out into it. And it'll be warm, home-like, and youthful in its promises of lasting happiness.

On Saturdays, I dream of a pretty little house on a field, a waterfall nearby, and a love story to go with it. I am poetic on Saturdays. I am young and romantic.

I am simpler than I am on other days. I need less.

A cup of coffee and the newspaper are enough. Productivity is measured in how little is done.


Saturdays are the recess hour of adulthood, the freedom made sacred by its scarcity.


Shall we go out and play?

image from here.