Poem 36: Oh, the Sun

I remember standing in a window-lined hallway in Bartlett Hall. Maybe even leaning my head in against the cool glass, staring out across the parking lots and athletic fields at the light cast from the falling sun. Oh, the sun. Nothing made me feel like a Floridian so much as being in Massachusetts at four o'clock in November. The gold orb we took for granted would set so early, before the workday was done, so you were always going home in darkness. Mine wasn't the only shadow cast in that hallway, I wasn't the only one leaning like a flower. I remember that clearly now.