There's a pregnancy in the air on Sundays afternoons, brimful of anticipation of the week ahead and stuffed full of unfettered relishing of the weekend's final moments.
Children play games in the street, ignoring their parent's beckoning calls, smells of laundry billow out of apartment vents cleansing the neighborhood air, little girls set aside their school outfits and pack their knapsacks with their perfect show-and-tell items, 'one-day-we'll-make-it' bands savor the final set of their weekly jamming session and matrons add the last pinch of paprika to their autumn pumpkin stew.
Preparation for the week ahead and a final reverence for week past. Beginnings and closures in the same space.
The air is pregnant on Sunday afternoons.