There will come a day when Adam will be interested in watching the sun sink down over the sea and below the mountains, but today wasn’t it.
He was too busy digging and leaping, conquering sand and driftwood on the beach.
I was superfluous to his needs.
He only noticed the symptoms of the sun having left like wanting a hoody on, or that he can’t see things as well. He got angry that he was cold, saying ‘I don’t want to come here ever again!’.
It was a good opportunity to talk to him about being aware of his surroundings with the cause and effect it has on everyone, and taking responsibility for how we choose to react to that. We can see them as cues for preparation and transition to the next phase, or let them take us by surprise, making us flounder like a victim. With the gentle daily repetition, the sun reassures us that this day is nearly finished, and that tomorrow is another chance to do things differently. I said it in simpler terms for him of course.
Just like the gentle repetition of the words of parenthood that affirm and build lifelong trust between a parent and child, the child learns to trust themself.
With so many things changing around us that we have no control over or its outcome, it’s reassuring that the sun will be here again tomorrow and each day after that, even with the clouds as a distraction that will soon blow away. The cyclic nature of our planet reveals itself in us.
I love the contrast of that beautiful soft light touching everything, sucking and holding the warmth for one last minute, quickly chilling to cool blue tones.
As Adam hugs in for warmth, I tell him that the sun is saying goodbye to us and hello to people on the other side of the world where they are just waking up.
‘Will it come back?’ he says with wide eyes.
‘Yes, of course, it always comes back.’
‘Ok,’ then he and the dog head to the sanctuary of the car, coating the seat with a fresh spray of glittering white sand.
© Words & Photography by Paula M Cunniffe, New Zealand.
This article may be republished with permission from the author.