"Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright." - George Harrison
I could never live in the state of Washington. It rains too much. Or so I've heard.
Every so often I wake up with this feeling that something is missing, like the means to get up and start the day is still tucked away somewhere under the bed covers. Eventually I slug my way over to a window and realize that I was wrong. My absent enthusiasm is not hidden under sheets but behind thick, dark clouds. It's a dank, dismal morning with no visible sunrise.
The weather really does affect me this way. On mornings such as these last few since the storms of Labor Day weekend, the despondency hangs in the air like a gray mist. Every hour is an exercise in apathy. Eventually, coffee and necessity get the damp bones moving and doing their daily tasks, but with little pleasure.
But then... then there are mornings like this morning. You wake up and you sense something new in the air. Joy has risen early and woken you with its quickening light. You walk outside and feel the early stirring of autumn that is rustling the summer leaves. You hear sounds, no longer the weeping of raindrops, but the music of the new world coming alive. And then you look up and you see it - the golden virgin sky, once shrouded behind the dark veil, now in her full and shining face revealing the radiant source of all her glory. The Sun has risen. His raging ferocity stirs mirth in the warm soul. His consuming blaze gives life to the green earth. His blinding light gives sight to the open eye.
Let him who has eyes to see, see. He cannot stay hidden forever.