sun

its sunday and I am cleaning the bathroom
the sun pours in through my bedroom, bleeding into the closet sized bathroom. I am stooped over the commode with bleach in my hand and watching the water flow down to the sewer.
Leo Kottke warbles through my radio, an elaborate tapestry of strings, notes, fingers plucking in a complicated rhythm. I am slowed despite my second cup of coffee. it is afternoon and yet I feel asleep, mesmerized by the hum of the music.
on to the steps and I am sweeping it all away, warmth builds in my body, my arms feel work and muscle. the golden hue of the wood begins to emerge behind the dust bunnies scurrying away and it matches the yellow sunbeams tumbling down the stairs.
this is me, this echo of wood and straw, dust and books, notebooks piled up, a cat purring and rubbing against my legs and the sun/day slowly turning towards the evening.