It's Friday

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I sit on my black, shaky, plastic stool 
As I put my walking shoes on 
One glance to the right 
My left hand already latched onto the door knob 
I motion to twist that piece of silver 
One deep breath 
To honor this space of departure 
To the open, fresh, green, sunny morning Then bask under the gossiping canopies of trees, my friendly neighbours
I sit on my black, shaky, plastic stool 
As I take off my walking shoes 
One glance to the right 
One deep breath 
To honor this space of arrival 
It's Friday.

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