It's the hour at which a great many of us Americans wonder if the coffee pot is ready to go tomorrow morning as we groaningly consider that we have come to the end of another weekend. My coffee has yet to be ground and loaded into the little fibrous paper filter with the de-ionized water and the timer which will trigger fresh brewing at 6:00 A.M.
It was so much easier on Saturday to believe in the power of weekends, when there was an entire day stretching out before me, mine to fill with trips to the farmers market, a bike ride in the warm spring air, or poking around the food co-op to see what new plant starts or whole foods might have appeared since my last visit. No floors were washed, no checkbooks were balanced, not one load of laundry was done.
Sometime between 9:00 Saturday morning and 9:00 Sunday night, the weekend passed through a time warp and it became Monday Eve. Just enough time to give thanks for each new blossom sniffed, each breath of warm breeze in my hair, and each rejuvenating turn of the bike pedals.
There are still clothes to wash, floors to mop, and a checkbook to be balanced, but at least I've taken care of the truly important things.
Thank God for the power of weekends!