Sunlight
"I feel like I'm basking in the sun," I said, tilting my head back and soaking in the warmth of the campfire through my skin.
"You are," he said, with a smile hiding behind his words.
I sank into his simple statement, drinking in the implication with a sigh. The fire was sunlight, the kind stored all through the tree's long life. Every day revolved around drawing in the golden essence of the sun..., storing it, and thriving off of it. Here, at the end, that sunlight was being unleashed, springing to life in it's molten, dancing form. That tree had been sunlight, textured and thriving, pulsating and growing, given the gift of life by the Father Sun.
Everything was sunlight.
Every sound, every taste, every touch, every sight...it was all feuled by golden, dancing sunlight. All of it. The garden in your yard, the current of wind on a crisp fall day, the sting of snowflakes on your cheek, the taste of warm honey...would be nothing without sunlight. The Earth would be nothing but cold, hard stone with a raw core that ached from the loss of it knew not what
.
The oak standing proud over it's prairie began as the Mother Earth took from the Father Sun the golden threads of sunlight, and with them she wove such a tree. Strong of root, and broad of trunk, with a crown of such leaves as to make the darkest shade fall across the ground he claimed as his own. His own sunlight, his own swath of ground upon which to provide the buriers his children, his own water that fell from the turbulent storms that shook the sky, bolts of sunlight splicing through their depths and plunging into the Earth to create the fires.
Fire. Fire was sunlight. And as the fire pulsed and flashed and snapped and grew, I marveled at the sheer magic of it all taking place at that moment. That moment I was watching sunlight come to life, springing from the plants that stored it all those seasons, flaring to bright beautiful mortality before it crumbled away into wavering embers, tumblng to ash in the end. It was magic. There was no other word for it at that moment.
The wind kicked up. The fire purred and snapped in response, ducking fast against the coals. I sighed and shut my eyes, feeling the sunlight on my skin shine straight into my core.
"You are," he said, with a smile hiding behind his words.
I sank into his simple statement, drinking in the implication with a sigh. The fire was sunlight, the kind stored all through the tree's long life. Every day revolved around drawing in the golden essence of the sun..., storing it, and thriving off of it. Here, at the end, that sunlight was being unleashed, springing to life in it's molten, dancing form. That tree had been sunlight, textured and thriving, pulsating and growing, given the gift of life by the Father Sun.
Everything was sunlight.
Every sound, every taste, every touch, every sight...it was all feuled by golden, dancing sunlight. All of it. The garden in your yard, the current of wind on a crisp fall day, the sting of snowflakes on your cheek, the taste of warm honey...would be nothing without sunlight. The Earth would be nothing but cold, hard stone with a raw core that ached from the loss of it knew not what
.
The oak standing proud over it's prairie began as the Mother Earth took from the Father Sun the golden threads of sunlight, and with them she wove such a tree. Strong of root, and broad of trunk, with a crown of such leaves as to make the darkest shade fall across the ground he claimed as his own. His own sunlight, his own swath of ground upon which to provide the buriers his children, his own water that fell from the turbulent storms that shook the sky, bolts of sunlight splicing through their depths and plunging into the Earth to create the fires.
Fire. Fire was sunlight. And as the fire pulsed and flashed and snapped and grew, I marveled at the sheer magic of it all taking place at that moment. That moment I was watching sunlight come to life, springing from the plants that stored it all those seasons, flaring to bright beautiful mortality before it crumbled away into wavering embers, tumblng to ash in the end. It was magic. There was no other word for it at that moment.
The wind kicked up. The fire purred and snapped in response, ducking fast against the coals. I sighed and shut my eyes, feeling the sunlight on my skin shine straight into my core.