Oh sun; oh tight, pullulating ball mottled ember-like by upwellings and down-swirlings of glowing plasma; oh foundation of great arches of incandescence gas erupting, twisting in response to immense magnetic forces, and falling headlong into the maelstrom of the photosphere; oh bombardier of the solar system, spurting thick gouts of fire-foam, in turn emitting death ray burst of ions out toward any planet in the way; oh sphere of magnetic storms, with twisting lines of force writhing like tornadoes or burning martyrs; oh pin cushion of spicules prickling the chromosphere like a sea urchin of fire; oh wracked and restless star boiling ceaselessly on its plasmic surface, roiled tumultuously by internal fusioning where density and temperature writhe like an immovable object meeting an irresistible force: how placid you seem, beaming down on us, anchoring our annual loop, blessing this fertile planet with the wherewithal of life itself.
With this post, number 365, a year's worth of reflections, if not of risks, and, by the way, the fifth anniversary of NASA's Solar Dynamic Observatory project of continuous solar photography, I recognize you as the reference point for the all the passages of time. Stately and serene, you set up and scythe down the minutes and millennia. 'As long as the sun endures,' but like any closed dynamic system, your days are numbered. Profligate and prodigious, you seethe with a thermonuclear rage restrained only by your massive, burnable bulk.
Attenuated as your energy is when it reaches us, it can still dazzle and dismay. But in these 365 days, I've been shone upon from every degree of your longitude. A full body encounter of sun and son. Recognize you? You've bored holes in my eyes, raised rebellions on my skin. Your undivided attention would crisp me, would all of us. Your benevolence seems like a kind of sufferance.
Still to be is to be cosmic. All cosy nooks have a backdoor open to immensity. Huge is our difference in scale, yet we co-exist, and endure the burdens of that. Brother Sun, Francis called you. Big Brother.
With this post, number 365, a year's worth of reflections, if not of risks, and, by the way, the fifth anniversary of NASA's Solar Dynamic Observatory project of continuous solar photography, I recognize you as the reference point for the all the passages of time. Stately and serene, you set up and scythe down the minutes and millennia. 'As long as the sun endures,' but like any closed dynamic system, your days are numbered. Profligate and prodigious, you seethe with a thermonuclear rage restrained only by your massive, burnable bulk.
Attenuated as your energy is when it reaches us, it can still dazzle and dismay. But in these 365 days, I've been shone upon from every degree of your longitude. A full body encounter of sun and son. Recognize you? You've bored holes in my eyes, raised rebellions on my skin. Your undivided attention would crisp me, would all of us. Your benevolence seems like a kind of sufferance.
Still to be is to be cosmic. All cosy nooks have a backdoor open to immensity. Huge is our difference in scale, yet we co-exist, and endure the burdens of that. Brother Sun, Francis called you. Big Brother.
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