sun slips down too fast—
but I chase it with bare hands,
greedy for the gold
It always creeps in. That first day in April when the light outlives the workday. Not by much. But enough. Enough to stretch the walk home. Enough to put your phone away. Enough to stop at a bench that doesn’t ask for anything but presence.
It begins then. This yearly pact I make with summer. That I won’t waste a second of it. That every ray, every soft beam bouncing off the cobblestones, every golden breath through leaves—I will meet it. Outside.
It’s been like this for over a decade now. Ljubljana, Regensburg, Basel. Places I arrived at first unsure and always pale from too much indoor thinking. And always, when spring arrived, it taught me again how to live in a body.
I become solar. I plan my days around light. A coffee in a paper cup by the riverside. Sweaty shirts from uphill walks. Books half-read in parks. And the same playlist that never gets old.
When the Coffee Stops Tasting Right
There is no alarm for burnout. For digital overload. For dopamine fatigue. It doesn’t come with red lights or alerts. It sneaks in. You don’t notice it at first—until the coffee doesn’t hit the same. Until the scroll is automatic. Until your feet itch, but you tell them to wait.
When that happens, I go back to basics. Not productivity hacks. Not resets. Just sun. Just silence. Just moving through the world again without checking in.
Because real presence doesn’t come through a screen. It comes through the weight of the air. The sound of bees. The moment your shadow gets long and you realize it’s already 7:00 p.m.
Wabi-Sabi in the Long Light
- You don’t have to fix everything. Just feel the sun on your face.
- You are not behind. The light always returns.
- Not all beauty is urgent. Some of it is quiet and waits by the bench.
- Let the world soften you. Let the light pull the edge off your ambition.
- Even the unproductive days teach you how to be whole.
There are summers I barely remember. But I always remember how they felt. The taste of warm water. The stickiness of fruit eaten standing up. The way a city breathes differently when everyone stays out late.
So I keep showing up. One walk at a time. I keep chasing that sun with open palms. And when it slips away behind the roofs and hills—I thank it. Because I was there. And that’s enough. What about you?
life 
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