Early. That’s the result of going to sleep early and resisting the wee hours urge to pick up my phone and see what Instagram is up to. A decent sleep and I’m awake not long after the sun.
I made strong, rich, Irish Breakfast tea, toasted a slice of fermented buckwheat bread, and set up my book on the balcony window ledge. Cushions to sit cross-legged, sip tea and read under the rising sun.
The sky is a haze of hot clouds, silver-grey around the high-rise apartments and the round edge of sunfire I can finally see. It has a long way to climb.
When this building was new, the view would have been trees, glimpses of the river, and more trees. Probably a church steeple or two rising through the green and glinting early in the arriving sun.
I think I’d see a spreading, slow mound of soft light pile up along the edge of forest dark. I’d watch it fill the empty black, tip over, and spill through limbs and leaves. Beautiful, slow waiting. The sun will not be rushed.
And there she is. Full, bright face of fire looks at me. I can’t look at her, but I can let her see me.
I can’t stop her, I think.
Her brightness makes my skin transparent and my lies mere disintegrating threads. Her hands reach out to touch the river, shine the trees outside my balcony, and dart through my window the way the wasps dart through the curtained doorway.
(The wasps mean no harm, although they will hurt me if they must, if I resist, fight back, and stop their necessary flight.)
This morning, I let the sun probe. I let her burn away the warts and lies she finds. I let her take her time, pour into me slow, inevitable, right down to my new, clean toes. I breathe her in and I don’t fight back.
This is a good beginning to the day.
I hope yours began well too. If it didn’t, if you feel shredded and taut with anxiety, take a moment to feel the sun, to imagine her pouring her warmth into you. Breathe her in and don’t fight back.