It is 9 am. The sun has risen and comfortably settled itself in to the trajectory it will follow today. Currently, it rests at eye-level and unceremoniously blinds me with its brilliance when I look out the window. Like every other day, the sun will ascend from the east, higher and higher into the sky, reaching a zenith at around midday. Its omnipresence is powerful then, its rays bearing down upon everyone, causing rivulets of sweat to form instantly, preventing anyone from looking up at it without the protective lens of dark sunglasses acting as a barrier in between. Soon after that, the sun will begin its slow, sensual descent into the west, a seemingly unhurried and unplanned exit from the day. Before disappearing completely, the sun will paint us a picture to look at: the sky will become a canvas, stormy lilac and tea pink will battle with powder blue while the sun star will burn tangerine in the midst of it all. The clouds that drift lazily above us all day now come alive, their bosoms bursting with the hues that spray the sky, as they race to and fro. Just as suddenly as it all began, it stops. The clouds cease to dance and the colours that streaked the firmament all divulge into one pool of black. The sun runs away with the show and all that is left is twilight.
It is the beginning of the end. Night falls, its heavy darkness blanketing us all. As if on cue, the moon slides into position, ready to resume its nocturnal post as a silent observer. The evening passes by uneventfully, the dancing clouds of sunset are nowhere to be found; they have abandoned the night sky, pledged their loyalty to the golden reign of the sun. The sky is now dotted with glinting, silver specks. These stars have come out to console the moon, whose large, luminous form drips with the melancholy of one who is forever alone. As midnight approaches and then passes by, the sky goes through various shades of inky blue, as if looking for the best fit, before settling into almost blackness. As the world turns, the sky adopts constancy; it stays still and silent, a mute spectator to the goings-on of the lives below. The stars, few and far apart, continue to twinkle knowingly and the moon hangs forlornly, watching it all happen. At this very moment, it seems like an endless night, the minutes drag by, each longer and lazier than the last.
Nothing changes, nothing happens, nothing moves; the world is sucked into a vortex of everlasting stillness from which liberation seems unlikely. The stars offer little comfort, they themselves seem to be trapped in caged constellations – Aries, Orion, The Big Dipper – named groupings of single stars, all unable to orbit freely, and so they do nothing but shine, their hollow sparkle a pittance compared to the overbearing brilliance of daylight. Just when the need to break away from the immobility of the night is about to fade into the oblivion of darkness, something happens. There’s a slight, almost nonexistent change in the colouring of the sky, unnoticed by all except those who looked for it. From raven black, it blends back into inky blue. The moon does not budge, it stays constant against it changing backdrop, which turns lighter and lighter until it is almost the powder blue of sunset. The oncoming dawn signals the start of a new day, a different day; the flickering ray of hope reignites. This is the time of greyness, the in-between slice of time between the white of the day and the black of the night; this is the merger of monotony. With a final shake, the moon and its accompanying cloak of darkness fall off the sky, which becomes lighter and brighter, preparing itself for the arrival of the golden globe of fire. The sun will return again, today, tomorrow, and every day after that, perpetually reawakening our souls, illuminating us all.