Monday, May 24, 2021

Fuzzy Sun

The sun was fuzzy today. I wouldn't recommend a fuzzy sun. Golden? Sure. Pale? Sure. Midnight? Again, sure. Fuzzy not so much. Does fur travel at the speed of light?

I wouldn't say it was a gloomy day otherwise - while I didn't wake up full of vim & vigor, I was able to get out of bed at a reasonable time. I made it into the office before my boss and was able to get some work done in between visits to the break room, the bathroom, and a generous lunch. The owner's kid even made a pot of coffee for everyone. The day had not crushed me by overwork nor the ennui of underwork.

On my way home, however, I looked up. The sun was fuzzy.

I would not recommend a fuzzy sun.

The first thing I thought of was the hedgehog theorem (also known as the hairy ball theorem - the idea that "you can't come the hair on a coconut"). Where was the cowlick on this sun? Who combed this sun? Were sunspots actually cowlicks?

After that I thought about the insulating properties of fur. Like, the fur of a polar bear is actually clear (and its skin is black) to let sun in and insulate it from cold air. Similarly, aquatic mammals have oily fur to protect them from cold waters. Hell, even humans have a layer of hair that works as light protection against cold air (and, concurrently, keeps the heat in our bodies). The day wasn't much colder than the previous days - was the sun's fur insulating it, or was it fur in appearance only? What the fuck was with this fuzzy sun?

Then I looked at the grass. The dancing grass. Green grass that worshipped the sun with its rhythmic dance. Grass upon grass growing forever. Grass that was the fur of the Earth - grass that shimmied and shook on the whims of the wind - wind that was a direct result of the heat of the sun. The fuzzy sun.

The fuzzy sun. The fuzzy son.

The owner's son.

Fucker must've slipped me a mickey.

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