The sun wavers in the January sky, delicately, as though perched precariously on the thin spire of day. There is an intimacy to the sunrise in winter, it rises late, a tousled lover, and sits so companionably low on the horizon, as though facing the day beside rather than from on lofty high. No, it's not like the decadent and overachieving summer sun. This is a sun I relate to, I can tell my secrets to as we lazily start the day together.
