The Day of Small Things

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Dear Saturday,
Thank you for your quiet, easy morning. Only you allow waking with the light or dreaming on ’till ten, as the body and mind please. Only you give permission for endless coffee refills, staying in pyjamas, daydreaming and magazines.
Oh Saturday, you are for drifting about the house, slow and steady. The washing machine whirring, the dog snoring, the hum of the kettle: these are your soundtrack. The mingling scents of book pages and coffee and pancakes; the luxury of cake and tea; the warm fur of the dog as he curls up to sleep: these all belong to you.
You give space for memories and dreams, sad thoughts and healing tears, laughter and love and wonder and peace.
It’s you, Saturday, who presents an open gate to the great outdoors. Cool, fresh air, leaves falling, mist over the hills. Blackberries, ripe and juicy, staining the hands.
It’s you, Saturday, who gathers friends around the table, and later around the crackling fire, room brimming with laughter and talk.
Thank you, Saturday, for your safety and sweetness. Thank you for being there, every week, like magic. Thank you for your rest, your joy, and mostly, thank you for playing host to all these Small Things.

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