The Sun


I’ve grown accustomed to feeling the warm sun on my back now and then, as I wind through weeks of tasks and trips and problems, but never for long as walls and doors and planes are meant to block it out.

I’ve grown accustomed to feeling the bright sun in my face once in a while,  when I pause from paperwork and planning, a flash of brightness, then the cool office neon, and the harsh orange light of lonely public places in the dark.

I’ve grown accustomed to watching the distant sun dim here and there, setting in cities east and west, glorious golden afternoons fading into twilight, as I make my lists and tally tasks undone.

I’ve grown accustomed to feeling the touch of the radiant sun brighten my spirit, now and then, once in a while, here and there, in stolen moments of shaded days dulled by drudgery and worn by time.

I’ve grown accustomed to the sun…


One response to “The Sun

  1. Perhaps these words foretell the next “who am I”.

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