Child of the Sun

This piece of writing was from a prompt on ‘weather’ by Penrith Writers’ Group.

Child of the Sun

©Veronika Sophia Robinson

25^th July 2026

I was born for this weather,
my soul cast in the sultry, slow heat.

Long before I ever knew the shades and shadows of Winter,
my story began in the Sun-baked, blistering, burning heat.
The day I took my first breath,
the thermometre climbed and climbed and climbed
to peak at thirty-one degrees,
while the Earth hummed a golden, mid-Summer tune.

Sunshine is my cosmic touchstone,
a sacred medicine and mystery sinking deep into my skin,
warming my Winter-weary bones from the outside in.

To feel the afternoon glare is to touch my own beginning;
the sharp, clean scent of eucalyptus leaves basking in the light,
the breath of the dry earth resting under the baking sky.

I remember wandering barefoot,
where the dust was a rich, red powder,
and the still stones held the fire of the sky.

My feet knew the rhythm of the parched land,
and my skin drank the golden dawn.

Though the skies may turn and the days grow pale,
my being longs for that searing, Summer Sun.

I lift my face to the sky to claim my birthright,
letting the comforting radiance settle over me.

The scent of dried grass rises, the distance melts away,
and I am once again a child of the Sun.

My soul stretches out to the burning sky,
as the mid-Summer heat climbs high,
the only perfect comfort that I know.