The Voice of the Sun
Saturday morning in the Park
The wind had been advertising all morning.
The glory of spring had returned, the warmth of dappled light and the fragrance of damp earth released to the breeze. The latest blossoms appeared with a secret, a secret I was aching to interpret.
Interpretation had grown recently, directly in proportion to the conversation, like any language.
At first, I thought it a figment of my imagination. Then, as understanding grew, like a deep, taproot delving into the rain-softened soil; the murmured grammar became clear, the vocabulary more so, be it the birds in flight or families at play. Both, with the most vitality pulsing through the verbs.
“Look to the light!” They implored for any with ears to hear.
Then, at long last, its force broke over me like waves when I perceived its upward call. The undeniable power of a ray of sun drawing the longing within.
“Fly up, up,” it called. Toward the life-granting force outside myself I drew. Sitting among the trees, I felt the ache for the sunlight they experienced, their soft, delicate leaves being drawn out of the hardness of the wood.
They could not be pushed from below…the tender bud is so soft, it would crumple or break…I realized.
That same ache pulled at my soul and others around me, I couldn’t help but notice. We raised our heads; the sun lifted, then grabbed hold.
“Upward. To the light!” Each comprehended differently the shout in the vivid explosive light of May, that most beauteous of seasonal dialects.
The green tree-flags fluttered their message in the breeze as the waves of warmth, like an overflowing stream, rippled and flowed on. They waved to the raindrops, drank in and waited out the clouds.
“The sun is back,” they whispered. Light excited the glow as it touched them.
And the human garden? Young women pushing prams, opened to the joys of motherhood, delighted with a bright, shining lift of softened heart among the shadow folk sharing the sidewalk.
Children exploding with energy and adventure dashed across the grassy park knolls, casting spells on lurking pirates and heroes alike, solving the mysteries they posed.
A young couple on a bench eyed each other shyly and found the roots of their deepened hearts and desire, which supplied branch, twig, and bud, growing and entwining to the skies of their love.
Hearts of older souls nearby responded at the sights of renewed promise. Together with warmed bones, there were warmed hearts. A hundred more times the warmth of spring’s approach would not be enough. They realized how much fewer they would know, so rejoiced at the gift.
We all felt it. The same tentative movement reaching outward, upward.
“It will continue thus, eons still,” the voice was heard to say. “Follow my chirp, my breeze, my laughter at the color and warmth of this day’s turn of world.”
As the breeze caressed my cheek, I stood to stroll through the flowers, along the paths toward a rise where the sunlight had rested upon the grass. There I stood in that warm embrace, communing in that language of light and gratitude.
The warmth draws, calling all, lavishing joy, ravishing all who share the Wonder.
“Have you heard its voice?”
