And the Sun Rises

The sun quickly rises today, heralded by the presence of of the girl in the orange dress. She has been holding a lamp in one hand, and nothing in the other every morning that I can remember. We don’t know why she stands there, motionless, staring at the horizon as the light of the sun slowly creeps over the hills until the sky is the same brilliant shade of her dress and she fades into the sky.

One day, when we were children, an adventurer–or perhaps they were another child, no one cares to remember–tried to find her, to ask her what her duty was, why she always stood there, motionless. The next morning, as we rose to greet her from afar, we could see him, his faint grey silhouette pale and lifeless next to the vibrant contrast of her dark one. But she met him, holding his hand tightly with her smaller one, until the sun absorbed her once more, and he was left there, standing alone. We watched as he turned, framed against the vibrant light of the sun and suddenly his silhouette did not seem pale or lifeless but as bright as the sun itself, offering a different kind of contrast in its comforting familiarity. The next day, when the girl arrived, she was holding a lantern, illuminating her path as she stood, calmly waiting for the sun to rise, the flame glowing in a flickering, lifelike pattern.

She does not hold her vigil with pride, in fact her back bows, her head hangs low, and her eyes never seem to rise above a glance at the the horizon. And yet, she still seems to be able to welcome the light as it absorbs her, day, after day. The oldest in our village have long told of the day were the sun rose shielded by clouds, and yet with the girl’s presence was able to ward off the clouds for long enough for the brilliant shade of her dress to slice through, absorbing her once again.

And now today, as we stand, waiting for our figure to arrive, waiting for the sun to be guided by her presence, they crest the hill ahead of her, standing in her space. And then she appears as we know she always will, holding her lamp in front of her like a shield from their presence. We all lean forward, worried, yet excited. As we watch, they move to greet each other, with the unknown figure raising their hand as if greeting an old friend, a gift grasped in the other. A muffled shout echoes across the valley, and as the sun crests the hill, casting them both into contrast with the bright sun the folds of her dress billow out as she falls, toppling off the hill, absorbed as she hits the ground.

The next morning she does not appear, and the sun rises without her.

The next morning the sun still rises alone, and as we watch it seems to lose some of its light.

The next morning we head out, before the sun can rise, searching the horizon for any signs of the story we know to have unfolded. Then the sun rises.

The next morning we all stand as a forest, greeting the rising of the sun as it brightens and soothingly overwhelms everything in its path.

And the sun rises.