Early morning in the city. Even around the usually busy Square, there is hardly a sound. No people talking, singing or shouting at each other, no alarms, car or other going off. I just heard one car driving past. One.
Early Sunday mornings have a sense of melancholia. Had I been with someone else, I would no doubt still have been in bed. Had I been with that someone else long enough, we would possibly have been up for the last three hours, on our fourth cup of coffee, with some cartoon noise on loop in the background. Life’s swings and roundabouts.
As it happens, this is not the case and while I am typing this I’m listening to Telemann’s Die Falschheit – and I only know this because the internet radio tells me so. Mixed with the recycling van that just came thundering past, must have known I was getting concerned about the silence, this creates an interesting Sunday soundscape.
Sunday. It can be the ultimate together day: the let’s stay in bed and erhm read day, the pack the kids in the car to spend time with grandparents day, the let’s go for an outdoor walk/cycle day, the leisurely breakfast/brunch/lunch day with family, friends and loved one(s).
Sunday can also be the ultimate solo day. To clarify, I mean this not so much in the Johnny Cash’ Sunday morning Coming Down but rather Otis’ Sitting on the Dock of the Bay kind of way. It’s the day to indulge yourself in your own fancies, your own choices, your own passions because others will be too busy with the togetherness side to bother you.
Swings and roundabouts kids.
The radio’s moved on to Ottorino Respighi The Pines of Rome, which seems a little dramatic for this time of morning but then again, perhaps not. The orchestra clangs into a euphoric crescendo: This. Is. Sunday! ( Yes, do imagine this in Gerard Butler’s voice please.)
Next week, Sunday will be a day of togetherness again but today it is mine. As I retreat: whatever you do with yours, I strongly suggest you enjoy it.