It’s a song, sung by Christofferson, and it’s a great song for today.
The head hurts, liquid breakfast (not beer, though), and needed another coffee to wash it down. Still in PJs, stumbling around like an old fart.
No, I don’t smoke no more, and there’s no one out on the road kickin’ anything, but the pub across the road sure smells good.
Roast lamb. I can smell it. It takes me back to my childhood, the regular roast on the first Sunday of the month.
Memories. It’s what makes us. That and experience.
We take what we’ve learned and tend to teach the lessons we learned at the knee of those who raised us. Not always, but usually, because it’s hard to break from the known and step into the unknown.
It’s a risk. It’s why the people who break from what they’ve learned in the community of family are designated ‘black sheep’. I’m the black sheep. Left it all behind, went my own way.
Now, I have sad songs for Sunday mornin’s comin’ down, sung in the velvet tones of Chris Christofferson. What’s scary, though, is that I remember when it first came out. It still has the same emotional effect, though, and I will always love his voice, the silver-tongued devil he is.
I hope the YouTube link to the song works – enjoy your Sunday mornin’ comin’ down: