Here Comes the Sun

I was driving home today from a locally-situated big box home improvement center, when my playlist gave me Luciano Pavarotti’s tenor voice singing Puccini’s, Turandot / Act 3: Nessun dorma!. The sun was out. Even though the two days of sun we have had this February is more than we expect, its presence was especially welcome.

Later in the morning, I came across a poem by Molly Fisk, Winter’s Sun. The first line says, “How valuable it is in these short days…”. There’s the sun again.

These little life situations can be conjoined in such a way that it seems there must be a definitive, bigger meaning behind it all.

What could it be? Joy?

At that conjunction, I was not inspired to create particularly. And I was certainly preoccupied with my home repair list. But I did feel a greater modicum of joy.

I thought about it and could find no relation between the melodies of Turandot, sunshine, or driving. It’s quite possible that it was a cosmic alignment of elements, and I was the only junctional point.

The point may be that there IS no point other than the very sweet gift of realizing that, for that moment, I was traveling through a poetic landscape.

In Northern Michigan, the rare winter’s sunshine never goes unnoticed or unappreciated.

There are times that all we need to fully realize is that we should sit up and take notice.

We don’t even need to be paying attention. All we do need to do is acknowledge it.

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