After sunset, when the sun gets off work, sometimes we meet for a cup of coffee or maybe a cocktail, depending on how the sun is feeling that evening. The sun always wears an overcoat and some shades, to avoid being recognized. If people see the sun in the evening it makes them nervous. Occasionally someone will stop, furrow their brow and say, “Hey, aren’t you the sun?”
“I get that all the time,” the sun will reply dismissively. Eventually the person will move on. It must be tough, being such a star, not being able to show your face. Still, the sun takes it in stride and is surprisingly humble about it all. Many famous people act as though the world revolves around them, but not the sun. The sun, once the workday is done, just wants to hang out with friends, keep a low profile, chill.
“It’s winter solstice,” the sun said last evening, a little depressed. “My workdays just get longer from here.”
“Cheer up, sunshine,” I said. “Enjoy the shortest workday of the year while its here. Lament the long days when they arrive.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” the sun sighed, sipping a martini. “Just feeling a little under the weather.” The sun is always down in the evening, but always up again by morning.
“You’re just not a night person,” I said. “Things will look brighter in the morning.”
Eventually I have to go home to sleep and the sun, who never sleeps, will usually wander the streets or sit in the park and wait for dawn. Sure, it doesn’t make any sense and science will tell you it couldn’t happen. Nevertheless, there the sun sits on a bench looking out across the river snaking darkly by in the murmuring nighttime silence, trying to avoid recognition, brilliant source of all our light and warmth.
I’m not really sure what the sun sees in me, to be honest, but we’re pretty good friends. Sometimes we play Scrabble.
Hello, friends. I trust you’re well.