Arrows of light met the ground that August day a few hours past noon. The mossy-grass beneath the grand oak became dappled, puddles of light playing happily with those of shadow. Alice reached out her hand, raising it to the sun. Warm. It felt so very warm. Filling her lungs with the air of evergreens, she closed her eyes to make a memory. On the cold winter days ahead she would want to remember this.
The sunshine has warmth in its brilliance, reflecting a shimmer from the ends of my eyelashes, deep brown though they are. It invites my eyes to rest, so that I may see the strong rays even when I appear to be sleeping. It's the kind of sunshine that comes at any time of year, illuminating summer meadows and alpine slopes all the same. I wish there was a word for the feeling it brings, for now I'm calling it "sunjoy."
The sunshine was so sweet, a nectar bestowed to the bees by each fragrant bloom. It was the gift of sun that rendered each moment so rich, so buoyant, conjuring the wands of green to rise skyward. To me it was a symphony of colours, one that brought the sensation of dance to my bones.
Under the sunshine every hue was kissed into brilliance, an art there for the seeing, for the willingness to pause and be with it in the moment. It brought every rose-hue from the bricks, every green nature bestowed, every tone of water and fire from petals evolved over eons. It made me shine too, the warmth around feeling as love within.
The bright sunshine brought us infinite hues of green, the palate of nature an abundance without frontier, each complimenting the other, more beautiful together than alone. It felt as if the light flowed, the energy within as the water in a river, kissing creation alive.
In that moment we call "now" even the sunshine is as static as a photograph, the energy of the world in one place or another, yet in the series of moments we call the passage of time, everything flows. The sunshine on that spring day brought a glow to the foliage, the grass, to every garland of bloom. It shone from the insects who flew, as if each were a star of the daytime air. It brought a warm lightness to the heads of the birds, a shine to their feathers of all colours. And without it, what then? Without the warmth of sunshine, what would there be? And so in all seasons it is the way joy seeps into my skin, keeps my heart in ambient steady rhythm.
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