Monday, May 5, 2014

Day XCII: Sun

What a difference a day can make, eh?

In Minnesota, we're used to rapidly changing weather. Snow threatens every minute of our days for seven months out of the year. The humidity can make walking difficult. Rain comes and goes, a fleeting friend or a busy neighbor.

Of one thing I am sure: the sun in May brings out the best in everyone.

We've spent 2014 in the coldest, bleakest, most miserable winter on record. Anyone who's lived through the past four months can attest--with various degrees loathing--what a troublesome start to the new year we've experienced in the nation's northernmost state.

Perhaps I am alone in this, but the minute the sun peeks out, sneaks away from the clouds and frigid atmosphere, it's almost as if the winter of our discontent never happened. The grass is green. Robins are bouncing. Rabbits are hopping. Trees are budding. Foxes are slinking (NO, SERIOUSLY, MY SPIRIT ANIMAL RAN ACROSS BRYANT RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME). People are smiling.

That last one is the most important: people are smiling!

It's not as if smiling never happens in the winter. In the sunshine and warmth, though, people just look...happier. Auras are changing. Energy is flowing. There's joy and light, and it is radiant.

Calhoun was packed this afternoon. Joggers, bikers, walkers, talkers, skaters, sailors, drinkers, thinkers, dancers, bathers, readers: everyone refreshed and alive. And it's heartwarming to see. Hell, it's heartwarming to write! We did it. We made it! And we're on the other side, stronger for having made it through.

In a vase, on a table nearby, flowers bloom in a circle of herbs and small plants. Life springs forward, eager for the next arc in the circle.

It's hard to be sad in the face of such resplendent noise.

From a seat in Urban Bean--Bull Run closed early and I feel such elitist loyalty to them that even writing "Urban Bean" feels maddening--the I am watching the sun quietly take his  leave behind a massive slate roof. No grand production, no forced goodbyes. A simple, silent dip, tapping the glass panes one last time before submitting to the hour of the day.

Ah, the modesty of the sun. Such humility.

And, yes, I am gushing. Wildly. Staining these keys, this page with happiness. But you'll hear no apologies.

We've waited long enough.

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