The Songs of Friday

Well, we have reached the end of another work week, with little fanfare and a quiet slipping-into-the-weekend sort of feeling pervading us. It was quiet here in the office, beautifully so. I was productive and content to simply work, free of the incidents and accidents of the politics of work. I wrote and ran reports. I read and responded to email I considered things and drafted things and studied things. I had time, sweet time, so precious a commodity in a world where hurry-hurry-hurry is the rule and the exception to the rule is only hurry twice as fast. All the questions I was asked today were clear, not fraught with subtext, not subtle hunting expeditions, simply questions. There is a beauty to simplicity which is lost in the working world. It is the beauty of music and poetry and subtle passion. It is the dazzling contemplation of the blinding light that is life. It is the subtle whisper of the darkness that is our mortality as we contemplate Fridays and the Songs of Friday.