I slept hard, I assume, because when my stuck-shut eyes finally opened, I felt like I had not moved all night. I thought about last night’s beers… only two… and this morning’s coffee, still only a waking dream on the dingy horizon.
I miss the morning sun.
I spent a dozen years without the sunrise, unless you count seeing it come at the end of a work day, on the wrong side of an eighteen-hour shift. Then my whole life changed, because I changed it. Things inside me had gotten as dark as the nights I worked, and I couldn’t even tell what caused me to go from keenly introspective to irresponsibly morose in that last year of double-shifting, and falling asleep in the morning, while I wore blinders to keep out my enemy, the sun. But even so, towards the end of that year, something inside my head told me that I needed to take a walk. Away from the job. Away from the life. Away from the darkness.
I needed the morning sun.
I let the sun be my alarm clock, my thermostat, and my constant companion as I went from nightcrawler to daywalker. It took months, but it worked. The brightness of summer burned the long night of winter away, and eventually, for the first time in years, I felt like a human being again.
And then, it got dark again. Not inside me, but on the outside. When daylight backed away like the ocean at low tide. It got dark again with the changing of the seasons from summer to fall, and with the thick morning clouds that blocked the sunrise from waking me, healing me, with each new day.
But this time, before the darkness on the outside found its way in, I noticed. Let’s hear it for keenly introspective, because irresponsibly morose really sucks ass.
Last night, I slept hard. This morning, I woke up looking for the light, and I found it again. And now that I know what I’m looking for, I’ll make sure that it finds me.
So I won’t miss the morning sun.
© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday