The day does not care what day it is, Part II

The day does not care
what day it is. It's Friday;
the rain has stopped.
Stepping outside
I am greeted by sunshine and
warm air: a world washed new.
"Come out and play!" says this day.

Yesterday I was tired
in body and spirit,
so I rested. Today the day
beckons: Come out and play!
My body, breathing deeply,
pupils dilating, says,
"Yes! I want to work.
Sweat. Breathe the air and
clean the tar from my lungs.
Hear the breeze whisper
through the tree-tops."
So I go.

On top of Mount Tabor
all covered with trees
a man with a
baby in a backpack
has stopped, pointing
toward the city skyline,
head turned over shoulder.
"Look," he says to the baby. "See."
He wants to share the world with her.
His daughter is so little I think
she can't possibly understand
or focus or answer.
But as I pass he says,
"Isn't it pretty?" and
she acknowledges
the beauty with 
something approaching words.