The sun came out today.
1,935 miles away, I can imagine how its rays brushed the tips of white pines, scattering light across mountains that stretch to the sky. 992 miles from here, I can predict how it kissed the horizon’s edge, blossoming over the sea like a butterfly unfolding from its withered cocoon.
I am not 1,935 miles away. I am not 992. I am here, with my arms folded across my chest and my hands reaching towards unreachable clouds, embracing a delicate warmth on my skin.
It has been a while since I’ve seen the sunrise. I’ve grown accustomed to the speckled black of night that greets me every morning or the hushed remnants of a sunrise that I missed by mere minutes. It has been a while, which is why the sun seemed so magnificent today.
If it were up to me, the sunrise would be dappled and vibrant. The glowing star would lean and lift into the sky with every trace of certainty in the world. It would not falter as it rose into the air, providing the moon with a necessary rest.
The sunrise today was anything but that. The sun bounced up from the edge of the world, elated, only to quickly shudder back down, as if terrified of Earth. It was frightened and pale and hesitant, and when it finally, fully rose, it greeted the day with a shrug.
The sun bounced up from the edge of the world, elated, only to quickly shudder back down, as if terrified of Earth.
The sun’s rays did not reach the edges of the night, either. They didn’t caress the branches of evergreens and oaks; they didn’t slip through the grass blades and illuminate the ground in yellow-green amity. When the sun rose today, it was almost unnoticeable, ordinary.
Almost.
I noticed what the rays did touch. My neighbor’s blackened door returned to its vivacious violet as the light crested over the tree line, a grandmother’s garden daisies came to life as the sun’s familiar yellow climbed their stems, and a young girl’s shaking fingers stilled under the warmth of a new promised day.
Though it wasn’t the enchanting fantasy that I had dreamed of, it was a sunrise that I had not expected to see—so when my skin shifted from a shady gray to a fervent orange, I settled into blissful awe.
1,935 miles away, the sunrise may have been red and pink and accompanied by the chirping of blue jays and rustling leaves. 992 miles away, it may have been a softened yellow, escorted by crashing waves and morning chatter. But, I am not 1,935 miles away, nor 992.
I am here, where the sunrise is hesitant and blistering orange, swallowed by the noise of ticking clocks and the drone of a quiet room.
I am here, and I am happy about it.
I hope the sun comes out tomorrow, too.
