The thing about gray winter days

is that every now then -- actually occasionally, only now that I think about it, truly rarely -- a sunny day or a sunny afternoon or even just a sunny hour pops up, reminding me why I feel imprisoned.

This was yesterday.

Today was gray.

Here Comes the Sun!

Sun sun sun, here it comes!

 And here's what it does.

Good day, sunshine! I feel good in a special way. I'm in love with a sunny day!

Sun Worship

Despite having had melanoma many years ago, I freely admit that I worship the sun.

Not in the way I did as a stupid teenager, lying on a towel atop an asphalt driveway, after having slathered myself in baby oil. 

But in a respectful way, wandering (in long pants, long socks over the pants, long-sleeved man's shirt, wind jacket as much for the pockets as any other reason, hat) somewhere, anywhere beautiful things can be found. 

Like these:

slider

water and algae

children at Lake Cheston

crocus

marmalade cat.

Everyone needs some sun. 

Winter Longing

Even an indoor cat misses the sun.

It could be worse, I try to tell her.

We could be living in Ittoqqortmoormiit, Greenland,
where the sun does not rise for 58 days.

Shimmer

What sun does.
Nothing to write. 
Except this: finally.

In with a Whimper, Out with a Bang

Always there, even when I can't see it, the sun is dependable. Today, it sneaked up, hidden behind a thick wet scrim and stayed hidden, till afternoon when it burst forth, burnished and burnishing winter grasses, setting the mountain ablaze.

Two Views of Winter Sun

I
Through icicle blades turning gutters and eaves into hilts.

II
On Adirondack chairs begging for sitters.

All It Takes

is just

one moment

of sun

& blue sky

Everything

Universe
by Steven Schnur

Up beyond the
Night sky, an
Indigo darkness like
Velvet
Embraces the farthest
Reaches of the mind.
Sun, moon, stars,
Everything.

A Break in the Weather

Sun again, and photowalking. 

Both make me feel human. 

I stretch my legs and mind, wander, look, listen, stop, stoop. 

Big and small alike delight me, and I am made new again.

Sunday SUN-day Celebration!

Sun's out, and the Swamp Spreadwings celebrate!

Worth Waiting For

High wind, rain, ice pellets, snow.

Then, finally, late afternoon, the sun broke through (now I understand sun breaking through) the wall of winter-tease and lit up the kitchen like Christmas.

Just look.

Worth waiting for, don't you agree?

A Day of Long Shadows

The most beautiful thing I saw today: shadows. Wherever I walked, wherever I looked, sun announced itself.

The most beautiful thing I heard today: a concert at the College that ended with Rhapsody in Blue. That piece, like the sun, casts its own shadow. For the first third of my life, I made music, and piano was my first and longest-played instrument. The last work I learned was Rhapsody in Blue, a demanding, difficult, joyful piece. I still remember my inability to get the count right in one passage, above which my teacher wrote, "huck-le-berry-huck-le-berry."

The young man who played tonight smiled at the conductor and at the music, letting himself show his pleasure in the music. For the duration of the piece, I felt Gershwin's heat like a sun, warm on my back, so much so that by the time I got home, I wondered where that person who made music went.

I am not she now. I am only the shadow of that musician.

A Place in the Sun

sun behind me to my left

sun behind me to my right

Equilibrium

I.
A moment on the road alone in late sun, the only sun on my skin today, except briefly to and from the car. Burnishing leaves and asphalt and trees and even the air, the sun a bronze sculptor. 

II.
Three coeds, first-years perhaps, hardened with that I'm-cool-now-in-college bravado. Every other word a machine-gun expletive spat out between cigarette drags and cruel comments about roommates. "This is what we &*@$ing do in Sewanee. We watch the !#*%ing sunset at Morgan's Steep," they shout into a phone, filming and sending themselves virtually back to Alabama.  

III. 
I turn one last time at the car, meet another coed who smiles and almost whispers, "It's beautiful isn't it?" as if she's in church.

Norwegian Sun

I sat in the sun
by Jane Hirschfield

I moved my chair into sun
I sat in the sun
the way hunger is moved when called fasting.

Citizens in Rjukan, Norway, enjoy long sun every summer, but every winter, for five or six long months, their steep mountainsides cast their town into darkness.

Until today.

Today, three giant mirrors cast sunlight directly into the town square, and the winter fast ended. Some sat atop parents' shoulders, others stood. All smiled, many laughed, and others cheered.

A century-old scheme + an artist's ingenuity = eternal joy.

The Power of the Sun

One photo op in the first hour at the lake. One. Under a white sky, everything washed out. Everything.

But Chris, out hunting red efts, brought me a gift: a katydid he discovered hiding under leaf litter. That one bug and I made long acquaintance after Chris sat him on a limb.

My day redeemed, I thought, and then the unbelievable happened. 

The sun appeared, the sky blued, fall burst along the shore, leaves yellowed while I watched them, and so many Autumn Meadowhawks burst out from the undergrowth and mated that my friend Julie remarked, "Like last call at a singles bar!"

Yes, and last call for my mood, too.

Finally!

Sun brings out the best: a little blue butterfly and a little white one, flying low and fast from weedy bloom to bloom; a quintet of tree swallows swooping and feeding over the Cheston hill; University caterers setting up a party at the Cheston pavillion; and four boys drinking beer and arguing philosophy at water's edge. 

Maybe those Odonates will be coming sooner rather than later!

Weather on the Way

A friend described our weather in this notwinter/notspring time as "fickle." 

Indeed.

A beautiful, clear, sunny morning I spent at my desk on the computer turned into disappointment: a canceled Shakerag walk and a dip in temperature and graying of sky.

Another friend tells me that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder because I pine and whine when a day (or a week or a month) passes without bright sun. Of the symptoms listed by the NIH, I admit to these: "increased appetite with weight gain" (like a bear before hibernation, I eat) and "unhappiness." 

A better term for the disorder I suffer is Seasonal Photography Disorder: the bugs are hard to find and without sun I cannot lose myself in the sensory pleasures of color and form.

So today, lost to the only direct sun some in Sewanee enjoyed, I tinkered with an afternoon snapshot of the campus, silvery light slipping between horizontal clouds. I couldn't just live with the Gorey-esque tableau, though.

I sweetend it with the amber light I so miss.

Soon, I say to myself, soon, and then spoon another healthy heap of carb-drenched food on my plate.

Sun and Stone

If I could
I would live
in a small house
with a large window
in a small room
facing a large
sandstone wall
facing west
and I would sit
in front of that window
every late afternoon
to watch
sun make magic
and I would
be happy.