Sunday. A day of rest.
The sun fades, the sky changes colour. The clouds silhouetted by pinks and oranges. Birds chirp. Insects buzz. Motorbikes hum along the road outside and our neighbours meander home after a day at church. A greeting, a burst of laughter, or a baby’s cry pierces the stillness. The air is fresh and the breeze is cool.
We laze around on cushions on the terrace. All movements and thoughts slow. Lost in a book, music, our own thoughts. No minds wander to the week ahead, the work to be done.
We reminisce about the night before. The more entertaining dance moves and absurd conversations. We doze. We share the occasional thought or observation. We cast our minds to making dinner, thinking about trying to summon the energy to make the short walk to buy food.
And now dusk is upon us and all natural light has gone. But still we remain on the terrace, resting, as we have done all day.