High Noon

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What is noon?

The obvious answer is that it's a time of day when the sun hangs directly above the world, casting it in a warm glow––if it is cloudless that day.

But to me, noon is a mystery, one that dangles seductively out of reach on the other side of a wall. Enclosed in the darkness of my home, I can only imagine what the warmth of the sun feels like. How does it feel to tip one's face up to let the rays caress the skin? Does it hurt after a while? Sunburns are painful, I'm told, the skin turning cherry red before peeling away to reveal fresh flesh.

How lucky humans are to experience that.

If only a little sunburn was the only damage the sun caused me. I'd spend every day in the sun if that were the case, sprawled in the grass and watching the clouds drift by. I would pretend I was a flower, soaking up energy from the sun.

An impossibility, alas. The moon is the only orb in the sky I can safely look upon. But her rays are cold despite the light being reflected from the sun. Still, once night falls and before I go hunting for nourishment, I stand outside, close my eyes, and pretend. I pretend I feel heat, that my skin is slowly being darkened to a tan and then beyond to a red burn. I pretend I can be part of the day world, enjoying the sun instead of a creature bound to night and blood.

And sometimes as I'm resting, if I'm very, very lucky the world falls silent as the dead, and I can believe it's noon.

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