A Thousand Little Suns


Like a golden coin glinting under the sun, hidden amidst swishing blades of grass, he appeared to me as though a midsummer night’s dream one late morning at the end of June.

I was being carted off — There is something about routine and contracts that turn you against yourself, that make you wake up in spite of the sleepiness assailing you, the feeling of being yanked back into dark unconsciousness as though knocked out by a gloved hand, emerging only because of sheer duty…fear? And yet, I chose, choose everyday to do this. Not a day goes by that is not my choice. It is not obligation that wakes me. Not the idea of losing a job that fuels my fear—it is dreams, growth, the many small, wonderful things that can happen during the day. I am not repulsed by this routine because I am not trapped in it. I am not caught in the stream of everydays, submerged by the currents of norms and expectations, struggling to break through and ultimately resigned to be taken wherever the waters will. No : I choose. I choose everyday to do what I do.

And so, I was carting myself off to work in a shuttle that seemed to be going both slow and fast, as though someone was playing with the fast-forward and rewind buttons in a film. Some moments passed in a blur, evaporated from my consciousness as though they had never existed. Others were so startling, so vivid I could almost touch them through the glass of the window.

We were going through what, next to the glittering shore and the tunnel of trees bent over the road, is turning out to be one of my favourite passing-places. Going through there feels like exploring a painting. Or better yet, like the mental image of the artist painting it. We were navigating  rows upon rows of fields that stretched on beyond what the eye could see. Layers of rich, tilled soil gleamed under the sun, and the soft greenery of saplings covered the slopes and dips of the scenery as though a coat of light snow. Shimmering, the tender pink of crop-flowers bent with the wind, spreading a delicate scent of wildness about.

And in the middle of all this, the dwarfed bus puttered on in the motorway that had never, before that moment, seemed so narrow, so modest.

There were grass-cutters about, busying themselves as though ants in a great wilderness. The smell of freshly-cut grass sliced through the thickness of glass windows, filling my nostrils, memories of an old garden rushing back lightning-fast.

And there he was, liminal, someplace in between the fields and the motorway.

A midsummer night’s vision that appeared one late morning in the month of June—lying in a roadside ditch.

There where the strange trees grow, the ones with the large gaps in their foliage that let sunlight stream through as though through a sieve. There, where the grass stops just shy of growing, where, a few centimetres away, gravel crunches underneath your foot. There, right there in the softness of the earth, he lay. And looked at indescribable things some ways beyond the interstices in the yellow-green leaves. A thousand little suns danced in his vision, kaleidoscopic and infinite as his arms crossed behind his head. His legs were sprawled out, his feet pillowed by a mattress of grass and roadside flowers. He looked as though he had been dropped from the sky, and his first instinct was to lay down and contemplate the worlds around him.

All around, the grass-cutters and their scythe-like machines buzzed on, sending grass flying up and down and sideways, over his head. But with a thousand little suns shining on brightly all around him, he simply did not belong to the same stratosphere.

The way the bus whooshed past, I could not have seen him for more than 3 seconds.

And yet, one late morning at the end of June, as I was carting myself off to work, I saw a man lying in a roadside ditch, a midsummer night’s vision, an image of freedom seared into my mind. And oh, the choice he embodied, to be lying under the trees one late morning, to be swimming in the lights of otherworlds….He was…ethereal, superlunary. It was his choice to be. For a split second, I envied him but I knew he had made his choice and I, mine.

But the light of a thousand little suns, even through a bus window,  even for 3 seconds’ time is not something that you can forget.

Not even now. In my head, it is the same as that day. A thousand suns burn bright, infinite.




6 thoughts on “A Thousand Little Suns”

  1. So much is embodied and given rejuvenating vigor to in your words, Ilah. The smoothness of the piece, its mélange of worlds…the superlunary (what a stellar word!) made tangible to the readers’ minds by your words.
    What should I say other than encouraging you to keep writing and nurturing the unique gift you have!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. As always, thank you for such kind comments, Ludovica ❤ I am so happy you enjoyed this. And I discoverd the word 'superlunary' just in time for this post, actually ! I'm always looking forward to expanding my vocabulary or exploring new ways of crafting sentences. I've been meaning to ask, is there any word in particular that you enjoy ? I've said it before, but I love how extensive your vocabulary is, so I would love to know ehe 🙂


      1. You’re always welcome 🙂 I really enjoy your pieces because I learn from them, and it helps direct my stylistic choices in a way, too.
        That said, I’ve got many favorite words, so I’ll just share a few: two I’ve always loved and used, two I find enchanting and significant, and one I’ve taken to using. They are, respectively: underlie, imbue, ensconced, stalwart and vet (verb).
        Do you have any words you are particularly fond of? I’d be really interested to know too😁

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Ah, you are too kind, Ludovica 🙂 But sincerely, I am honoured if some of my writing has, in any way, contributed even the littlest bit to your creative process ❤ Ahhh, ensconced ! It is one of my favourites too ! I had only ever heard of 'stalwart' in passing so I'm glad I got to discover it ^^ As for my favourites, there are many I already use on the blog, namely 'liminal', 'microcosm', 'bloom', 'nostalgia'. I like anything that is atmospheric or slightly magical like 'dragonfly', 'waterlily'. There is also 'lilt', 'luminous', 'summery' 'disentangle'. And then there are non-english words like 'komorebi' (japanese for 'sunlight filtering through trees') there is the French 'dépaysement' (feeling as though one is in a foreign place), the Portuguese 'cafuné' (running one's fingers through someone else's hair). Ah, there are so many lol. I try to keep track of them whenever I think of or come across one word though.


          1. Thank you Ilah for sharing ❤️ It’s so exciting to think that there’s a whole world of words out there to be explored, and it is wonderful to partake in such an adventure with good pieces to read, like those I find here! So, once again, thank you for the inspiration, and… keep writing 😄😄

            Liked by 1 person

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