Spring has sprung, and the flowers are in bloom. During the day the bright yellow sun shines gaily in the room. The grass is green and the birds are singing, and water gurgles in the stream. If I'm asleep, please don't wake me - I'm having a beautiful dream.

Thoughts of summer, of school and work, of the beach, the country, the mountains, do not alter the mood of March, April, or May. Spring is spring is spring, the bird sings, as it gracefully flies away.

Sunrise gently wakes the sleeping crowd, the birds and bees, the flowers and trees, the human folk too. It's warming outside, but no, not yet, better to stay where you are, cozy under your thick blankets where you're rolled into a ball, trying to ignore what is going on around you, the fact that the world is waking up, and not completely succeeding. Soon enough the light touches your window, seeing if you notice it yet. "Hello, sleepyhead. Are you in there?" it asks. You do not reply, hoping that it will go away and let you sleep for another few minutes. With no response, the light becomes bolder, and seeks you out. It crawls along the floor, finding your shoes where you tossed them last night. It finds a chair - empty. Soon, it is streaming in through your window, intent on finding you and enveloping you in it's glimmering beam. It flows over a fallen corner of your bedspread like a flooding river. It inches it's way up, finally discovering a bedpost, undecided whether to gently ease you out of your slumber or to quickly jump on you and shock you awake. It decides, as always, on the former, and silently slides up, up, up onto your bed. You begin to feel it, first as a new, comfortable warmth in your toes, then in your ankles, then your legs. The light feels along the bed, finding more of you and quickly covering it in a warm glow. You are awake, dreams long forgotten, sleep crumbling in your eyes, but still you lie still, waiting for the sun to point you out, like a spotlight, and share with you its power. It pounces on your abdomen like a small cat finding a place to rest, and swirls up your arms. It covers your chest like a well-worn shirt and begins to warm your neck with its soft kisses. As the light reaches your naked chin, half of you wishes you had pulled the covers up higher, and the other half welcomes this aged visitor to you, greeting it in a manner known only to itself. Your lips twitch momentarily as the heat rises up your face to find your mouth. It pauses, momentarily, before caressing your ears in eight-minute-old illumination. Sliding down your nose, it nears your eyes, and you swear that you can feel the sunlight on your eyelashes. As the ray steals across your eyelid, you close your eyes as tightly as you can, but to no avail - the world has gone from black to red. You consider turning over or even ducking under your pillow, but to give up this warmth, this sensation, is unthinkable. Your forehead is next to be bathed in the soothing light, and finally even your long brown hair is shining with this touch from the sun, and it basks blissfully, drinking up the rays as fast as it can. "Aha, there you are" the sun gleefully points out, like it has just won a difficult game of hide-and-seek. Still you offer no voice, in greeting or otherwise. It cocks its head in mock inquiry and playfully asks "aren't you glad to see me?" You let one eye fall open and quickly glance at your alien-yet-familiar surroundings, savoring the warmth but still trying to ignore its source. It knows you're awake now, and begins to dance about on your forehead, welcoming you to the world of the waking. As you slowly stir and sit up in your bed, it continues to envelop you, embracing you in a white hug that you cannot return. You would sit there all day, alone with the sun, touching, feeling each other until it had to move on, but you have a job, or school, or things to do, so you must, regretfully, leave the shining river. You ask it to wait, tell it that you will be back later, but you know it will do no good - by afternoon, it has left your room, and all you can see is its reflection in the sky. So you dress, turned away from it, and feel it massage your back like no one else can. All too soon, it is time to leave. You are saddened, but not too much. You know you will see it again today, several times, and let it play against your skin, clothes, and hair. And tomorrow, it will wake you again as if you were a new friend it has just met. You know today will be a good day. And it is.

Tyler Jones, March 30, 1992