Jill writes of warmth and shadow. What I hunger for through the long winter is the sun, the light, the heat, melting me, scorching me, I don’t care, I want it.
My legs are tanned, and look longer than I remember. It’s been such a long time since I felt like this: as if I am melted all the way to the bone. I lie flat out in the sun, letting it work on my skin, a sensous touch of heat all over. There is a short story by Ray Bradbury, in the collection called The Golden Apples of the Sun, about a woman who pulls energy straight out of the sun in order to reshape herself. I look at my tanned legs and brown hands, the light dusting of freckles over my eyelids and the way the pale shirt contrast the dark skin of my neck, and I feel like her. The sun and the summer reshapes me, muscles develop in my calves, I find my courage is still there as I dive into the green waters of the fjord, cooled down by the melting water off the glaciers and the dramatic (and expensive, thank you) blonde stripes in my brown hair are integrated into a natural sunbleached mane.