There are soft rays of sun, lightly yellow, warm and comforting, streaming in through the wooden slats of my blinds. The delicate sounds of piano waft out of the laptop sat atop my knees as I lie back again the pillow behind me. Outside, the sky is blue but only lightly so, so that it fades easily into white just at the top of the treetops that I see on the horizon. The branches are silhouetted against a backdrop of hope, for this is the first warm day.
Some people don’t notice the first warm day, because they feel no need to pay attention. I do. I look out for this day every year because I know that I notice the first dark day with far too much ease, and I made a vow to myself to look out for the good as well as the bad, even if initially it is harder to find.
It is easy, when you have lived in the dark for so long, to forget what it’s like for the sky to be bright, for the sun’s rays to cascade gently onto your skin and make you feel safe, for there to be enough light that it can spread into the deepest darkest crevices of your brain, to air it out for a while and make you forget, even just for an instant, that there was ever any darkness in the first place.
It is around September or October that the first dark day comes, and brings with it that feeling of hopelessness. Because you know that it will come, and there is nothing you can do to remedy it but wait until the darkness it lifts again.
Today it has lifted. And maybe, possibly, hopefully, just for a while, there will be sun. And all will be well.