The sun has me wrapped around its finger. I sit around pining for its presence all winter, complaining constantly about much I abhor the world without it, and sulking in my icy depression. When the sun does deem to show up, I smother it with my company. Even when the sun decides to slumber after a day of presentation, its tepid attendance pervades the night atmosphere and charms me in its hidden radiance. Reclining in the thick contouring grass, starring at the blackened ceiling of night, and swimming in the humid breeze all leave me incandescently happy.
I find the indoors unnecessary when the sun’s personality is as affable as it has been this weekend. Today I wandered on the railroad tracks, with the sun behind a wall of trees, casting jagged silhouettes on the parallel planks. Pacing on the abstract shadows, heading down a never ending aligned passage cultivated much contemplation and contentment. After spending the entirety of my Sunday in the company of the golden luminosity, I ended up with a permanent blush, new dots flecked across my pallid epidermis, and merriment saturating my disposition.
Perfection.
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