Stories, Poems, Reflections and Meditations on Life and Renewal
93. Colors of the Sun
The sun rises, and the colors gather into one glowing ball, casting a hue of warmth on the bark of the evergreens to the west.
You can tell we are turning toward it, long before the first glimpse. Darkness fades to a brightening sky, twinkling gray-white with just a pinch of baby blue.
And then the tree line shifts. The reds and deep oranges flicker behind the trunks, spreading across the entire Eastern horizon.
The sun rises, and the colors gather into one glowing ball, casting a hue of warmth on the bark of the evergreens to the west. The dew drops sparkle and reflect the light in blinding diamonds.
The Sun is the constant center. It doesn’t shift. Photo by Simon Matzinger on Pexels.com.
Only moments. Just a few moments. And the perception shifts, and the sun is high in the sky as the day is born.
The sun doesn’t shift. It is the constant center. Only perception shifts.
Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.
View all posts by Michele Plumb Stowell
micheleplumbstowell.org 