The Sun (a short story)

It started on my forearms. A soft, slow warmth as I lay in place, still as the grass beneath me. An ember of soft radiance from high above, making it's presence known as a quiet journey across my skin. As I rest my head upon my lightweight backpack, the soft cotton frame cushioning my neck, I feel the warmth begin to share it's gift on my forehead. It makes its way down my eyebrows, across my nose, to my chin and upon my neck. My loose shirt blocks the skin of my chest from feeling that same glowing warmth, but I know if my hand were to reach up and touch my collar, that same eminence would be felt on the fabric.

But in this moment, I won't reach for my collar, nor adjust my backpack, nor move a muscle. In this moment, I want to give my body every possible second to absorb this warmth, to let it rest on every inch of my skin for as long as possible, for very soon, I expect the second act of this three act play to begin.

And here it is.

I notice it first in the trees. The sound of a chorus of leaves chattering and dancing, rocked back and forth on their tiny stages, tapping against each other in a collage of sound, a whole community bursting with energy in simple taps and clicks.

And then I feel it.

The pressure moving up my legs briskly until it meets the skin of my forearms.

The cool

Soft

Breeze

Meets my sun

Warmed

Skin.

The cool wind ripples across my skin, sending the briefest shudder upon the hairs of my arms before the gaze of the sun returns that glowing warmth to my skin. This pattern repeats as I lay still on the grass. Each auditory bell of chatter beckons another layer of cool only to be met again by the sun and it's gentle presence.

I can feel the chill linger on my cheek longer than the warm can be recovered.

It is time.

I slowly raise my hands from their soft resting place on the grass. 

I run my hands up my arms, capturing the warmth held softy, quietly upon their surfaces.

I bring my hands to my face.

I press.

Warm hands

Meet

Where cold

Skin

Rests.