Conversing with the sun

Yesterday morning I woke up in my son’s bed. I’d found my way there sometime during the night. At 1am in the morning, he called for his mother, but she was already in the other room with his sick brother, who was nursing a cough. I appeared at his door and was initially told to get lost because he wanted his mom. It’s a little like turning up at the airport and asking for an upgrade – his mom is the business class upgrade, and I am the economy seat at the back of the plane next to the toilet. Everyone wants business class, I get it. I calmly explained to him that I was all he could get, and as I turned around to leave, he decided to take the trade and told me to climb in.

I woke up with him, curled up next to me, and fast asleep. I couldn’t tell the time, but I knew it was a bit later than usual and decided to stay still so not wake up the house. Sleeping in with young kids is rare. In that brief moment, I forgot about all the craziness in the world – closed borders, shelter in place, the sad stories coming out of Italy, talk of recession, and depression. Then it hit me like a wave, and I thought, “oh, I remember now, all of this shit is happening, and it’s real.” I felt my chest tighten up and looked for my phone. Time to go.

I made a cup of tea and walked into the back garden. It was a dead still morning, the sun was up and warm. I stood out there for a bit and felt the grass under my feet. The moment of normalcy gave me a lump in my throat. I think it was the act of appreciating the simpleness of the warm sun and the quiet of the morning. The earth whispered to me and told me she’d been here all the time and I could come back anytime I want to.

‘I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill.’ – William Blake


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