On a humid, thick aired day in the South, the sun is your enemy; the way it beats down punishingly and singes you all around the edges. Your skin breathes hot and your nose is always pinky tender from hours spent outside.
But in the winter? When the new year has brought more grey days-rainy deluged days that weigh you down soggy? A sunny day is hope. A sunny day is grace. A sunny day is a promise.
It’s the way shards of light cut lines across a swept wood floor: how each plank shines and shimmers. It’s the blinding glint off of years old wavy glass panes: how you have to squint out of your kitchen window as the light pours over your backyard fence. It’s the way you hear an out of place bird song, one always saved for Spring. It’s the way you feel connected: how you hear child shouts lilt over boundary lines, all scooping up the last few minutes of daylight.
A sunny day is a memory stone. Once, the world was overcome by its sin. Once, it drowned in the waves of its selfishness: greed, imperfection, comparison, hatred, disobedience, pride. Once, the world really was in over its head and there was no way out except a boat full of four legged things and one family.
And a sunny day is a delivery on a promise. Never again will we be overcome with sin. Never again will our pride-bent hearts have to be our destruction. Never again will our imperfection have to be our undoing.
So. No matter how many days we have been out to sea, lilting and hoping and squinting for the shoreline? No matter how many months we’ve felt the rain pummel our red-rimmed, tired eyes? No matter how many puffs of air gather round and make the sky and our future seem vague?
A sunny day will come.