Romancing the Sun

I drive west in the morning, the sun rising behind me.

In the evening, as I drive home, the sun sinks until at last I see it in my rearview mirror, bidding me farewell.

I am blessed to never have the sun in my eyes, to not have to squint into its unrelenting gaze.

But sometimes I feel as if I were running from the sun, turning and fleeing instead of chasing it, embracing it as I would like.

I’d like, for just once, to stop my car, to stop my purposeful retreat from the sun’s glare.

I’d like to step into a cornfield and dance with the sun’s warm touch on my face.

I’d like to play hide-and-seek with the sun, dashing through the trees that line the river.

I’d like to read a book as the sun peeks over my shoulder, reading a few sentences ahead.

Romantic thoughts, perhaps, dreams of me and the sun both quitting our day’s work to merely play.

But in the wistful thought of such an idyllic day, I cannot forget the quiet romance of this, our day-to-day.

The sun’s soft hand upon my shoulder as I drive to and fro. His gentle kiss to my cheek when the road’s curve let’s us speak.

The kind service he offers me in illumining my way. And the fiery, passionate, sometimes wistful way he waves goodbye until at last we fade from each other’s view.