When I was a child, my nickname was “Sunshine”. I have always needed a great deal of sun and light and fire, –partly because of my Sagittarius birth sign.
I feel like starting this blog post with a strict dull dictionary definition of “sun”, because I have so little experience of it any more.
Webster’s Unabridged, of course: “The star that is the central body of the solar system.”
Well, that doesn’t do it for me: does it for you?
“Sun” – that flat round disk formerly to be discovered in daytime sky (day – between dawn and dusk), sky formerly blue. That spill of gold upon a carpet or a table, warming twice — in the sky, where it belongs; and as it reflects off indoor surfaces. And always, always warming my heart.
Except there isn’t any sun any more. Nor blue sky.
Just some grey-white substance all over what used to be sky — clots that remind me of the inside of my mother’s Electrolux bag.
I know what’s happened to sun. It’s called fossil fuel / emissions / catastrophic climate change / disaster / the Antrhopocene.
My antidote to sun-deprivation is memory.
Here’s to Cape Cod at Hallowe’en, when sunlight spilled everywhere, from dunes to shells to whales and seals to fish in the sea and in a splendid market and all along weathered clapboard shingles.
Warming both heart and my soul. May these scenes warm YOURS.