This morning while walking Samson, on an otherwise unremarkable Sunday morning walk, I paused as the sun broke through the bare trees and hit my face. I realized that this is the same exact sun that shines bright in high summer; the same sun that darkened my shoulders that summer in 2012 farming on Long Island, the same sun that hit me horizontally in October in LA when I didn’t want it to shine anymore, the same sun that seemed to suspend in the air at 8:30pm when Jack proposed on the Mediterranean, the same sun that lit the sky the day I was born, the same one that shone the day you were born, too. It’s been the same sun this whole time, and though she seems a little weaker, a little lower, and not as high and bright, she is still there. And she will return with strength and height in due time.