Ode to Thursday

Thursday is, without any doubt, the best day of the week. It’s Christmas Eve, the light at the end of the weekly tunnel, the mecca for which I yearn. Last night as I put my head to my pillow, I said that today, Thursday, would be a magical day. It’d be a particularly special day for reasons unknown, only that I intended to make it so.

The little I’ve experienced today would lead me to believe my quiet manifestation did not fall on deaf ears. I just got a call from the man who is printing my book of poetry. He says they’re in the midst of printing a proof. Thursday, oh beautiful Thursday, your little victories ignite me.

I saw a woman in white socks and ballet flats jaywalking on Milwaukee Avenue. Wednesday’s rain left pools of gray pond water, which she cordially strolled through. That really made my day. I think if that’s the only thing I take away from Thursday, I’ll be a happy man.

There was also a white Honda Civic with its windows open, blaring a rap song I couldn’t identify. It brought the block to life and made me think of a rainy summer day. A tall man wore a gray outfit with a red sweater, his pants tucked into his white socks, and Nike Cortez. That made my day too, he had a warmness about him, a walk that read contentment.

Now I type and look forward to other things falling in my lap. I’ve surrendered to Thursday, and have decided to let it run its course. I trust no other day like I do Thursday, beautiful Thursday.