I’ve always wanted a sunroom. The sun is my panacea for every ill. It’s warmth and brilliance make me feel alive and whole.
Before retirement, I’d start my day in a second-floor bedroom that faced northeast. With only two windows, it served as my make-shift sunroom. After an early-morning walk, I’d sit in my big, upholstered chair with a cup of coffee and my Bible. All of this took place before 7:00 a.m. Then, I would eat breakfast, shower, dress, and rush off to a twelve-hour workday spent inside. I loved my work, but I yearned to write, and I knew my muse required sunshine.
Now that I’m retired, and we live in a condo, I have a bona fide sunroom. My morning routine is quite different. I no longer wake up at 5:45 a.m., dress in the dark, and take my walk before sunrise. Sometimes I even sleep until 7:00 or 7:30.
I still start my day in communion with the Creator, but now I meet God in my sunroom. With windows on three sides, I can bask in the wonder of God’s amazing creation whichever way I swivel in my chair. The ambience is wholly inspirational.
Today, I felt inspired to write a poem. Poetry is not my usual genre, but as I sat in my sunroom, gazing upon the brave daffodils that have survived a temperamental spring, it came to me.
Daffodil is fooled into thinking it is spring.
Donning a yellow sundress, she opens her mouth to sing.
The temperature plays tricks on her, expelling winter gloom,
Dancing upon her budded face and coaxing it to bloom,
Now her leaves pop forth, reaching toward the sun.
She lets the warmth deceive her, “There’s lots of time for fun.”
Yesterday the sun shone bright. The temperature climbed to sixty.
Daffodil said, “Look at me! Aren’t I just nifty?”
“I’ll come out to play and revel in the breezing.
Uh-oh! I took a chance but now the air is freezing.
What to do? Stay or go? Too late to reconsider.
I wish I’d brought a coat with me to guard against the bitter.
I promise that next year I won’t rush to arrive
I’ll wait till spring is earnest, when flowers can survive.”
But memory fails our golden friend, for last year was the same;
The sunshine fooled her that year too, in February she came.
Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three published novels: Diary in the Attic, Unrevealed and The Dark Room. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: Cindy Loomis Freeman. Her books are available through amazon.com or hightidepublications.com