Friday Makin' Promises

Somethin’ about high Friday. Livin’ on the edge. Straddlin’ responsibility and abandon. Inviting all kinds of shenanigans. Hidin’ down the street, peekin’ ‘round the corner. One eyebrow raised. Friday likes nothin’ better than a mischievous plan.
Clock tickin’ down to time needin’ no calculation. Anticipation. When hours pass on no man’s watch. And we’re on call to nothin’.  Dreamin’ that. On Friday.

Friday sets stuff aside cuz it’ll keep till Monday. And pushes harder when it won’t. It doesn’t matter. It’s okay to dig, because, you know, we’re restin’ soon. It’s Friday.

Friday stands like a sandy beach. Dry part, too hot for feet. Sends you scootin’ fast to compact wet stuff water made ready for play. The ocean—well it’s full on raging Saturday. Friday runs along the edge, daring, and laughin’.

Road trip destination city workin’ its way up highway sign, mile by mile; that’s when you know. Getting close. Sniffin’ the barn. Really you’re smellin’ Friday.

Friday's like gettin’ to a ball yard early before the game is started. Players stretching, takin’ batting practice. Shaggin’ balls. Action meanin’ nothin’. Yet. First thing you know scoreboard’s lit like Christmas, people yellin’, players runnin’, and no-count Friday’s disappeared. While you were sittin’. Watchin’ and waitin’. Relaxin. That’s how Friday rolls. 

Ever seen a tree not yet sprouted first springtime leaves, but somehow glowin’ electrifyin’, eerie green?  Think you hear it breathin’, feel the warm upon your neck, right before it pops to full on show? Yup. You’re right. Friday snatched that tree. Friday just can't help it.

Friday's packin’ for vacay. Suitcases open. Clothes stacked on your bed. Plane ticket folded neatly, waitin’ by the door. You ain’t left yet. But you know you’re goin’. That part’s all wrapped up.

Standin’ at the swimmin’ hole as summer offers its hottest day. Been sweatin’ whole walk down. Carryin’ your towel. Thinkin’ entire time. How good it’s gonna be. That dive into the cool. Steam gonna rise up off that pond. Friday imagines the whole scene. Friday conjures feelin’ before anything ever happens. Friday dangles a toe, drags it through the water.

Smellin’ dinner on the stove. Listenin' to the sizzle. All of it predictin’. Sayin’ exactly how delish it’s gonna be. Friday does that. Tempts us with tasty. Likes to send a waft our way and leads us by the nose.

Sometimes it seems so long to make the final stretch. Friday, where you at?  Playin' with me again?

Been hiking miles, climbing and curling up hills, through trees. You know this path. Close to the top. Passed that distant bend. Side by side with Friday. Friday speaks, the final curve. You knew that. But still you smile. You pump your fist in cheer.

Finally Friday invites its pals. Tosses pasta in garlic oil. With red pepper for tongue and parsley for eyes, tickles and lights us up. Clinks our glass, chin-chin, toasts the weekend. Still fishin’ for a few more friends, a little more fun. Gleam in the eye. My, do we ever know you, Friday. Where you beenCome on in.

In case you wondered – just so you know, when tangled bodies reach the thrill sure and yet to come, that is always Friday.

When it’s all waitin’ to be felt, and hatched, and loved, and lived, calling you to run, and leap, and dive, and heave yourself headlong into nothing but potential. Something inside, crouched, and on the verge. There is no doubt. Again, messin’ with your mind, makin’ promises you don’t even care it keeps, pluckin’ strings and playin’ songs you love to sing. Man oh man!

Amen! Hello Friday.

Cheers! It's Friday!


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