Sunny Daze

I’ve tried to think of a way to put into words the beauty of the sky as I flew into Knoxville Thursday evening. After the weirdness of the previous flights, it was nice to be on that last short leg of the trip and know that I was finally going home, but once I was in the air, flying higher and higher above the graying clouds, I almost wanted to stay up there.

The gloom and rain that has saturated our days in the last few weeks seems to have seeped into our souls. I’m used to my buddy Thaddeus whining and complaining about the miserable weather in Seattle and I like to give him a hard time, telling him it’s not so bad and he needs to just deal with it. Now I know that it’s not so easy. Constant rain and clouds saps you of energy and joy. Those who grew up in the Northwest might be used to it, but it’s not normal for us. We’re shiny happy people. We like our sun.

Like Superman, we tend to get our energy from the sun. On a beautiful, sunny day, we feel empowered. It makes for a good day to hike, or doing outdoor chores. When the sun is shining we feel we need to do something, because it’s just too glorious a day not to.

Rainy days, however, are great for staying in bed…or just lounging on the couch and watching reruns of shows you weren’t sure you liked in the first place. Anything but having to expend energy which we are pretty sure we don’t have. Our batteries are used up, and without the sun, we don’t have a way of recharging.

I have been reading about everyone’s shared despondency on Facebook. Rain, rain, go away, they all seemed to say, we’ve had enough and we want to play. As I talked to Connie each day on the phone, she talked in hushed tones about the ever present drizzle or downpours and the despairing mood at home. As much as I wanted to be there, I knew that I was not walking into a party, but more the mood of a wake.

Yet, as I stared blissfully out my oval airplane window, nearly blinded by the brilliant, radiant light, I could hardly comprehend the doom and gloom below. As we sank lower and lower in the sky, I was amazed at how long the sun stayed with us. Below ten thousand feet, it was just as powerful. Farther and farther we dropped, and my eyes still squinted from the rays, even as our wheel bays opened and I could feel the hydraulics expand and lock into place.

We sank into wisps of white clouds that quickly grew darker, and in seconds we were out of them and racing toward the quickly approaching ground. Splatters of rain hit my window and our wheels touched down with jolt on the runway. I bent my head to look out the window and up at the sky. Dark clouds, gloomy and denying, lay low over us.

I don’t know how many times I’ve flown over the years, on both clear, beautiful days and those when I felt that noontime could just as well be dusk, but I had never been struck with such a clear vision of how small my peripheral vision was until right then. We see what we see, and are often easily blinded by the swirl dark clouds in front of us. When that happens, it is almost like that is all there is and ever was. That the sun is not simply hidden, but non-existent. Nothing could be further from the truth.

As I drove home, swallowed by dark clouds and spit at by rain, I smiled. I felt energized. I had seen the sun, and had captured a piece of it to take with me. I knew now that what I should have realized all along. The clouds were only a few hundred feet off the ground, and they were thin and weak. The sun was always in its place, as bright and powerful and life affirming as ever. I just had to have the faith that I could still feel it’s warmth on cold, dreary days, and wait for the day that it would wash over my face again, so bright that I will have to cover my eyes.