Sundays with you

Sundays are not those days
that follow Saturdays
nor those that precede Mondays
Sundays are the days
when we get up late and
whilst you prepare breakfast
I busy myself with this and that
before we go for a walk

I love walking with you
I, with the love that I feel
very well stirred with teaspoons
of madness, passion and melodrama
amuse myself admiring
the trees and their shadows
the puddles’ reflection or
the flowers’ beauty
I also collect leaves
take photos and make souvenirs
of those little gifts
that mother nature
so kindly bestows on us

I can feel that
you are watching me or that
you are looking for me and
despite the people or the distance
you make sure that I am near
then I hurry
to take your hand or your arm
to keep walking with you
because I love the feeling
of being a part of you
that you care for me
as much as I care for you
with the same complicity and
the same correspondence

it doesn’t matter
what day of the week it really is
we make Sundays
to be grateful with life
for the good fortune
of being together
of being able to go for a walk and
return home
with our hearts overflowing happiness
that we feel like children
returning from a piñata party
with their pockets
full of sweets
humming, almost dancing
the same song