The clouds have parted and the sun is high in the morning sky. Most of us go about our daily lives never giving a second though to the steady light illuminating, powering everything. We were reminded last week that the sun is indeed alive – a living breathing, almost immeasurably ancient being slumbering in our skies. It occasionally stirs, and we are lucky enough in our lifetimes to have the technology to marvel when it does.
A fountain of plasma explodes from the sun, then falls like glowing rain back on the surface of the sun, silently, and without notice to almost all of us here on Earth.
THE SOUND OF THE SUN
By George Bradley
It makes one all right, though you hadn’t thought of it,
A sound like the sound of the sky on fire, like Armageddon,
Whistling and crackling, the explosions of sunlight booming
As the huge mass of gas rages into the emptiness around it.
It isn’t a sound you are often aware of, though the light speeds
To us in seconds, each dawn leaping easily across a chasm
Of space that swallows the sound of that sphere, but
If you listen closely some morning, when the sun swells
Over the horizon and the world is still and still asleep,
You might hear it, a faint noise so far inside your mind
That it must come from somewhere, from light rushing to darkness,
Energy burning towards entropy, towards a peaceful solution,
Burning brilliantly, spontaneously, in the middle of nowhere,
And you, too, must make a sound that is somewhat like it,
Though that, of course, you have no way of hearing at all.