Say its name and an invisible warmth wraps around us. We see the ball of fire high in the sky. It is generous and cruel at the same time. It lights our lives, yet sometimes it burns our skin. We picture it yellow and bright, a faithful friend to happy days. But it can become unbearable. Even tyrannical. I once loved it. Now I look for shade and the comfort of air that does not hurt.
After rain, it arrives like a messenger of peace. We call it. We wait. We beg. And when it finally settles, we whisper, “too much.” That is the sun’s paradox.
I meet it in many scenes: a picnic by a lake, a slow walk with my dogs, a lively terrace. In Belize, it was with me every day—warm but never cruel—a partner in a gentle life. In Marseille, it feels different. Sharper. Almost hostile. It reminds me that light can be tiring.
Children draw it as a bright yellow circle, but it is more than that. It is sunrise and sunset, promise and farewell. On Lake Michigan, in Chicago, I saw it rise like a mirror that catches fire. Over the Caribbean Sea, I watched it raise and fall with the water.
My daughter loves sunsets. They calm her after long days of study. The sun can comfort us, even while it disappears.
At sunrise, the sky opens slowly and the hidden colors of night appear. At sunset, red and violet bands loosen along the horizon, as if the day were lying down in the sea’s arms.
In the jungle, dawn is a symphony. No alarm is needed; the animals wake us. In French villages, a rooster does it. In Belize, it is the hoarse call of the howler monkey. He is small but powerful. He announces morning to the forest. His group answers. Then another. Soon the whole jungle is awake. Each call marks a territory—like a dog’s bark or a door closing on a house. Humans are not so different.
The sun is a steady rhythm, a pendulum between life and rest. It lifts the voices of monkeys and birds, then lowers their eyelids at dusk. It burns us. It feeds us. It tires us. It consoles us.
Today in Marseille, after weeks of crushing heat, I enjoy its quieter return, softened by autumn. It feels like an old acquaintance. Sometimes too present. Still impossible not to love.
Written in 10 minutes ✍️ (needs a lot more work!!!)
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