Fire-eater

the sun doesn’t just rise. it comes up for me. it prepares itself all night to shine on me first thing, and light my way to work, to the bookstore, to the market. it waits for me to come out on the doorstep, then greets me like a throng of jovial friends. many times i am overslept and a little late, but still the sun has been patient, and has waited for me. on some days, i’m very busy or preoccupied indoors or sometimes sad, and never make it out into the day, into the sun to see it. on these days, the sun waits in anticipation. it leaves messages. it checks its watch. it whispers to me as i close my drapes, not in the mood. i don’t want to talk today. or be warm.

but most are days when i love the sun. there are days when i wish it would never go down. there are days that i am on time to see it, and there are days when i am in fact waiting for it. there are days when i awaken early, look through yesterday’s mail, brew tea or coffee, write ten pages and shampoo my hair, all done, before the sun comes up. oh, i love the sun. it’s on these days when it’s well past eight in the evening and i know our time together is coming to an end, and i cry. i plead with it not to go. i ask it, “what did i do on this perfect summer day, to make you want to leave me? did i not say something right? or did i forget to hold your hand as we walked? what can i do, sun, to keep you from setting, from leaving me dark and cold? why are you leaving me? the night might last forever. sun, when will you be back?”

why is my reaction at every ending, that it will never, ever happen again? and why do i feel the sun set, and think it may never, ever be back?

~D