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Tuesday Morning
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The birds don't know that it's Tuesday, nor would they care if they knew. Days of the week, hours of the day, years counted since the (supposed) birth of Jesus or since one year before Creation--whatever--are human constructs.

For birds, each new day is its own joy, beginning with the lightening of the sky before dawn, greeted with the same enthusiasm, rain or shine, hot or cold (well, almost the same enthusiasm--cold, rainy days not so much).

Only humans seem to wake up, sleep deprived, already stressing over the anticipated events of the day, oblivious to the joy of creating all around them.

May I be more like a bird.

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