I am the sun.

I swore if the sun didn't soon return, a deep depression would suck me in like quicksand. I've been particularly glum these last few weeks and whether or not it's been a product of the never ending gray clouds and rain or a number of other posted possibilities, the weather has certainly been no help.

Today the sun finally arrived, burning off the seemingly impenetrable haze and warming the temperatures to the blissful low 70's. With the clouds went my recent heavy heart. I was up by 7:15am and told by a certain Staff Sergeant that it was far too early to rise on a weekend. At 8am my eyes again opened and I tossed and twisted the sheets until he too was awake. Keeping with trend, we lazed in bed laughing and quietly talking of an errand in need of attention. Eventually we pulled ourselves from the soft cotton layers to tackle the seamstress mission and a pizza lunch. The sewing shops, as it turns out, still adhere to the blue laws of bygone days. After scoping out every closed establishment in town we accepted a sorrowful defeat. Lunch, however, was a great success - Chicago style veggie pizza, de-lish.

Driving with the windows down to the timeless ballads of Johnny Cash was perfection. Noticing again the dark amber clarity of his eyes was my secret retreat. And when I finally found myself basking in a warm breeze on a Starbucks patio with my Nano set to shuffle, once again able to sport big, bug-eyed shades, with pen in hand and journal open, I couldn't imagine a more exquisite finale. Then late in the afternoon The Staff Sergeant stopped by on his way to work for just long enough to say hello, take a quick sip of my iced coffee, and steal a kiss. And at 4:30pm, a 2 hour coffee date with an army wife acquaintance offered an enormous amount of reassurance in my military induction.

On my way home I passed that hill, the one that was so dead with Winter. This evening as the low sun turned the sky golden yellow, I noticed it now brilliantly green with new grass. The skeletal trees are sprouting bright infant leaves and lumbering livestock grazed it's sloping incline. I sighed in relief, thankful for a necessary return to lightness. I hope it never rains again.