I’ve been obsessed with the Sun since I first saw her rise. I marvel at the idea that something so far away has an omnipresence. While humans bicker over lunch and roll their eyes at the television, the Sun sits in the sky and waits.
I imagine she gets bored, but I’ve never heard her complain. Maybe hiding in the clouds is her way of telling us she’s tired, and blinding us is a warning that we’re getting on her nerves. I wouldn’t blame her. I would do the same.
If I could, I would write letters to the Sun. Does she know about the moon? Has she seen the Great Wall of China from space, and does it impress her at all? I’d even check in about her pronouns because here I am assuming and characterizing based on the minimal qualities I understand about her.
I live on an island, but it’s hardly isolated, with bridges locking us to the city and three different airports to take us away. I love sitting by the beach down the street from my house, watching the Sun make her way under the horizon. I know she’ll be back tomorrow, and that she’s going off across the ocean to wake up another sleepy town. I don’t need those airports or those bridges. I could follow the Sun.
t’s not that I’m an astrology fanatic or that I feel a spiritual connection to her energy, I just really love the Sun. We have a lot in common: both yellow balls of light who have accidentally burned those that got too close or stayed for too long. I think I’m learning from her.