Next time you go outside, stick out your tongue, and taste the sunlight. A tingly feeling will travel up and down your spine. You’ll start drinking in the sunlight, gulping it, rejuvenating your rusty knees and elbows, your stiff legs, your aching arms, your kinked neck. Those eyes burned dull from hours of schoolwork will be filled with a new light. Your nose, plagued with the smell of rotting garbage and despair, will start smelling the sweet, exotic smell of the world around you. You’ll hear new music with ears made deaf from cheesy, fake songs; the music better than the most skilled orchestra. You’re tasting sunlight.
This is insane, you’ll think. Sunlight doesn’t have a taste! Oh, yes it does. It is the taste of climbing a tree, limb after limb, yearning to reach the top. It is the taste of riding a bike down a hill at full speed, ignoring the thought that you could fall at any minute because that’s what makes it amazing. It’s the taste of climbing a mountain without any ropes, danger whipping at your ears. It’s the taste of dancing in the rain to the tune only you can hear, your feet pounding on the mud, the wind your partner. It’s the taste of zip lining over an open ravine, the 20-foot trees hundreds of feet below you, and you can smell the clouds. It’s the taste of singing in the middle of an open field, your heart pounding and your lungs bursting, your audience the unseen animals. It’s the taste of reaching for the stars, on your tiptoes, every muscle in your body straining. It’s the taste of racing down a track, hearing nothing but the engine and the screaming of your nerves, inches from the other racers. It’s the taste of jumping down a waterfall, becoming one with the water, floating away to your wildest dream. It’s the taste of hiking in the wilderness, surprise and adventure creeping up your legs with the bugs.
In short, next time you stick out your tongue to drink sunlight, you’ll taste life.
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