the sun is out

To the sound of a CD starting in my alarm clock at the foot of my bed, my day begins. Eyes half closed and clutching the blankets, I reach over my head to pull the shade and see what the sky has to say. Sometimes it's grey, a bleak half-brightness that turns me under the sheets for five more eyes-closed minutes. And sometimes it's sun and warmth, drawing me up and out and on with life. I am ready to move; I am ready to breathe the air outside. Times like these of such unassumed energy, I want to thank the World for something magical I've been awarded. But maybe it was me all along, who knew this heat and happiness. Maybe I made it, and could honor myself and the sun. Maybe a quiet pride would be okay.