Does the sun hold a conversation with the sky?
Sing songs to the earth? Monologue to other
stars? The golden rays of god’s fingers slanting
through clouds in early morning are whispers,
half heard as we sip our coffee and gaze out the
kitchen window, barely audible through car
windows in commuter traffic. The changing
flamingo and parakeet waves of sunset are a
beloved aria habitually played in the background,
a vinyl 45 on the turntable during the choosing
and chopping of ingredients for Sunday night
dinner. The stories say the aurora has a voice,
as mesmerizing as a whale’s. What cosmic news,
enough to silence our radio broadcasts, do the
streamers of shifting light share?
