This Is My Scene

High up in the fifth floor of the hospital, I looked through the window at the lovely mid-morning sun blazing its way to a midday heat. I have loved to look at the morning sun, a bright sunny moment when the busyness of the day starts. People go from here to there, from there to here, and still the morning blossoms on. Forget the brightness, the light of the morning that gives a person a high, a lilt of smile that makes one's face shine with the sun; feel instead the glory of the brightness that gives a lilt of smile, of laughter, of ideas that connect the words blazing around in one's mind. How can one not be happy, even in a hospital ward?

It has been days since I crossed the large room of the Emergency, days that took away the smile in my heart, the hope that seems to be fading as the sun begins its journey to an afternoon of fading light. Is my mind fading as well? Where does one go when one's days are cooped up in a sick room? There is a chance of sunlight from the window; however, one's sick bed is located in the middle of the room, where does one look for the sun?

Evening comes late after the glow of the sun fades in the distance. Does one follow the sun as it fades behind the clouds? Does the mists of the darkening day becomes the beginning of a fear, a strong disconnection with the light of the sun?