Summer Solstice: A Note on Staying Bright

Dear Sunlight,

The sun stayed late today,
And I knew better
than to call it ordinary.

Some days arrive dressed in gold
and ask nothing from us
except our attention.

So I gave mine.

I gave it to the warmth
on my skin,
to the sunflower lifting
her radiant face,
to the friend whose laughter
opened a small chapel
in the middle of the room.

I gave it to the quiet, too.

The sacred kind.

The kind that sits between two people
who are no longer trying
to be impressive,
only honest.

Summer has a way
of telling the truth beautifully.

It says:
Ripen.
Return.
Stop shrinking
in rooms that never learned
how to honor light.

The sunflower knows.

She does not beg the sun
to notice her.
It simply turns
toward what feeds her
and becomes impossible
to ignore.

I am learning that devotion.
It can be simple.

A glass of water.
A clean yes.
A holy no.
A hand held without performance.
A heart present enough
to recognize beauty
before it becomes memory.

On this longest day,
I bless the ones
who meet me in the light.

The tender ones.
The truthful ones.
The ones who do not ask me
to make my radiance
more convenient.

And when evening came,
The sun lowered herself slowly,
like a woman in silk
Who knew the room
would remember her.

I smiled.

Because I, too,
am learning how to leave
without disappearing.

Still warm.
Still whole.
Still golden
where God touched me.

Sherley Delia