The Sound of Sunday

Bangs, booms, alarms going off as I stumble out of my way to comfy bed much too early.
A wooden door slamming as I rush into the bathroom.
High-pitched squealing, protesting, as I ease on the scorching hot water.
Heavy water slamming into the bottom of my shower as a waterfall would impact pebbles at the end of a stream.
Heavy thunks as I clumsily knock over bottle after bottle, in a blitz to get clean.
More squealing as I turn the water off, and then, silence. I revel in it for a moment. The beauty soon to be broken.
A soft snap, turning on my flat iron.
A gentle squeak as I slip around my bedroom door.
Rustling as I pull on my long black skirt, purple blouse, and pink plaid shoes.
Clicking as I walk across the linoleum floor of my hall.
A kind voice bidding me fairwell as I stride out of the back door.
Another slamming door as I plop down in my car.
The key screaches in and the not so subtle hum of the engine roars to life.
Cars zooming by, obnoxious clicking of blinkers, horns sounding from everywhere.
And then, finally I'm there and I am at peace once more.
A piano being played worshipingly as I walk through the blessed doors.
Smooth voices singing along as I choose my seat.
The traquil and reverentness of sacrament as the bread is taken and the water gulped down.
This, this is the sound of Sunday.
The restful voice in the back of your mind.
The melodius equanimity of prayer.
The truth.
This is the sound of Sunday.
This is what I have been waiting for my entire week.
This is the sound of Sunday.
This is what I have been waiting for my entire life.
This is the sound of Sunday.