I’m like Garfield, just different, she says as she pulls on Freddie Mercury’s orange fur, baiting him.
I like lasagna, but I hate Sundays.
She laughs as Freddie pounces. I don’t bother disciplining her about the cat again. Their love is wild and free-spirited. Plus, she likes the way he makes her look like a warrior.
Get it Ima? Cause Sunday here is like Monday and I hate going back to school.
I’m half smiling as I settle into my seat on the bus.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
I didn’t tell her how I relish these quiet mornings at the start of my week, how I put my best foot forward and make commitments to myself I know I won’t keep. I didn’t tell her how I hate Fridays and the crippling disappointment I feel when I realize I didn’t change the world since Sunday. I also didn’t tell her to withhold her love from the cat so he’ll stop biting her.
There doesn’t seem to be a point in full disclosure here.
I like the way my brain races along with me just outside the window. I think thoughts I know will become words I’m going to have to release.
My thoughts are green now.
It’s so lush outside. Just a few small downpours and the fields came alive. They’re dancing with shades of green; bursting with something so natural it aches.
I breathe deep. When the earth is resurrected, I become more alive.
The bus rolls up to a stop. My forehead is pressed to the cool glass. I am calm, and the kind of thoughtful that means overflowing with thoughts that pull me in every direction.
The green is still flashing by. Now it is tinged with olive and adorned with red, black, brown and metal.
The kids are heading back to base.
This green is freshly laundered and smells like home. This green is hulking bags full of more clean green slung over slight frames, tiny young frames, supported by laced up boots. This green boards the bus again for a week, two, maybe six. This green is going back to serve.
My thoughts are muddled green and Sunday, tossed with fresh blades of grass and topped with goodbyes.
…I hate Sundays…Separation Sundays…green plastic soldiers…blowing in the wind…grass is greener…on which side?…teenage warriors…mutant green turtles…samurai swords and M-16s…turning tween, then green, ya’alla gever…crisp slacks and burlap sacks…holding on a moment longer…sending out a teenage soldier…see you on the flip side…don’t forget to tell the world I tried…
Green churns through me as I head to Jerusalem to make something of my life. Green gathers at the Central Bus Station, showing up to serve all over this sprouting country.
Don’t forget to pick up candles.
Colored candles, bright and bold and full of light. We’ll light them one by one and talk about gratitude.
When the yellow and white and orange and drops of blue dancing flames flicker in my windowsill, I’ll be thinking of green-clad children saying goodbye.
Colloquially Speaking 