Sunday

 The sky is perfectly clear except for the occasional, fluffy, billowing cloud. The wind is nothing more than a breeze that consistently moves past. It’s warm enough to play and run in a t-shirt and shorts but cool enough that you won’t get a heatstroke. Looking around there is nothing to see except the square gazebo, a dilapidated soccer goal on the opposite end of the field, and a church, emptied from its morning sermons.

 The grill wafts the smell of its burger patties, chorizo, corn, and bell peppers. The picnic table is only half covered by the shade of the gazebo, giving the choice between the warmth of the sun or the cool of the shade. Napkins are kept in place by the cleanest rocks available. The pitcher of lemonade, along with an assortment of two-liters, is wet with condensation. It’s paired with a stack of cups with a sharpie next to it.

 The ice box can be opened to find much of the same drinks as the two-liters, except in more portable, twelve-ounce cans. Next to it is a large trash can with it’s plastic bag filled with disposable cups that are decorated with various names and drawings. Some of the lips are chewed and some of the cups have been torn apart.

 In front of the gazebo is the assortment of chairs for the people who prefer the open warmth of the field. Strewn about is a few soccer balls, a whiffle ball, a frisbee, some badminton rackets with their shuttlecocks, and the forgotten, slightly-uglier soccer ball. Specks of upturned dirt from an aggressive start or from someone tripping on their feet.

 The tops of the pine trees sway in the more aggressive winds. The deer run back into the thicket to escape the happy screams of children and bellowing laughter of fathers.

 Now it is the solemn silence of prayer; with the hands of neighbors clasped together. Elders sat first in front of trays covered in aluminum foil. Rock-paper-scissors to get ahead of the line. A pick-up truck arrives late and parks close by and leaves the engine running with doors open so the music can be heard by all.

 For a few minutes, nothing exists except the rumble of the idling engine accompanying the melodic beat of Latin music, the scraping of disposable utensils on paper plates, and eager conversation. The previous excitement continues again except only by younger feet as the older stomachs stay seated to settle their meal.

 As the trash is picked up and leftover food is distributed, the sky begins to pale. It then turns into its more vivid sunset. Parents beckoning their kids to say goodbye then the children continuing, knowing the adults will talk for at least another hour.

 Finally, the day is at its end. The pickup truck is gone, the picnic table empty. The field is vacant and quiet once again. There is no ice box. Nothing remains of the day except the upturned patches of dirt and the ugly soccer ball that no one wanted to take home.