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Given a new sun

Given a new sun the world gets suddenly brighter, as though you are seeing through the eyes of God at the moment of Creation. Things shine as though you are its parent, as though you made it and see that it is good. The light is new, slightly diffused starlight, sharp and clear unlike the fuzzy second-sight moon glow that drenches the world of nights. The edges of leaves stand out. Clouds, most of the time up in the air and doing not much at all, take on new and interesting shapes, the whiteness amazing against the improbable blue of the sky. Flocks of birds seem to dance in the air, their song no longer a violin bow on the nerves. People smile more in the new light, it seems.

 But one day the sun begins to fade, the new light taking over. It replaces the soft gleam, edges become more pronounced until everything looks sharp. Eyes not used to seeing in the new colours are straining to see more, a pain grows slowly at first in the mind. As though there is something missing, something that one did not even know had ever been there until it was gone. A hole filled with bright, short starlight. Starlight is cold. Sometimes seeing everything is not worth what is lost. Given a new sun, the old one disappears, the old warmth no more than a crawling on the skin.