The Warmth of the Sun

On sunlight, community and memory.

A Saturday morning in the deep days of a Melbourne winter. Bright and sunny, the air crisp, cold except for the warmth of the sun, if you choose to bathe in its rays. A city planted by Europeans, the foliage from the trees adorning the streetscape that once cast their shadows are now bare, branches of antiquity, waiting to be discovered or left alone.

On days like this, taking the chance on my Vespa in Melbourne weather was a risk worth taking. The 1.5 litres of pulsating power sounding more akin to a trumped-up lawnmower than a wasp after years of dedicated service.

I move through the colour of it all, exposed to the elements, alive to danger and possibility. Turning north up Elizabeth Street, the aromas of the curry houses, hot pots and Korean barbecues hit me before I can see them, tempting the senses. At 40 kph the street goes from mild to cold and then cold to mild again every few seconds as the towers of glass and steel block the low hanging sun from street view. They offer no apology.

As the days fade into the mid-year grind, Melbournians, the people of Naarm, fade too into their surroundings. The streets, the urban decay, the unedifying edifices of the modern constructed world, where expedience surpassed elegance decades ago offer no cover, nowhere to hide. The jackets and coats puffed and unpuffed in their various gradients of grey, black and blue black do on average winter days, act as camouflage in a stripped back city. But today, under a blue sky, filtered through a gentle northerly, people appear in monotone on a vista vision day.

The city, alone in its own ecosystem is alive; it bustles and hustles. All walks of life walk its footpaths. Eateries are full, lines for pastries stretch around corners, the face of the world can be seen on every tram or in the hoards at every crossing. People from all over have come here for a good time or a long time or both.

Reports of its demise have been greatly exaggerated, probably by people that don’t go to the city because they believe everything they read or hear on the radio.

Like every city in the world, it’s not without its problems, but watch the nightly news and you can easily come away with the impression that we live in a nihilistic hellscape, told by people that like to talk their own down.

I wonder how many people are out with a plan that needs implementing or how many are out because of instinct, attracted to the light while it lasts. An unspoken reminder that all things are fleeting and that we should bare ourselves to make the best of what we are given in order to draw on these moments in the darkness that will again fall, as they must, as they should.

On trundles around town like this, and without the luxury of a stereo to playlist my ride and outside the insular air pocket of a car, all variety of melodies come and go through the rhythms of my mind and the beat of the street. If there are numerous stops to be made at markets, bookshops or the allure of coffee, Duke Ellington’s Take the A Train keeps me company with no effort, only joy. The orchestra pausing under the maestro’s hand while I choose a porterhouse for dinner or peruse through a little book shop out of the way somewhere. The horns picking right back up where they left off as soon as I hit the road again, mission completed; thanks King.

But in the surprise of a sunny July day, invariably it will be a Brian Wilson melody that helps frame all around as I glide the town I know and love so well.

This time it’s Warmth of the Sun, written in a different time, in a different place about loss under the same life-giving orb that’s been there for everyone we will ever know or come to meet. The song itself is fleeting at only 2 minutes 53 seconds, but its melody and harmonies stay with you. It’s one of those songs that work on several different levels and comes to you when you need it.

There is nothing mono about these scenes surrounding me. The million little dramas and comedies that have come out behind closed doors to play in the sun.

These streets weren’t built for stagnation, they were cut into the Earth to get us to where we want to go, with who we want to go with. Our main market was built over a cemetery, this place in its modern form has never been sentimental. The Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung, know it, Traditional Owners everywhere know it.

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I pick up a copy of The Lucky Country, hard to believe I’ve never read it, but with it tucked away in my well-worn leather satchel I now have all the haul I need.

Before scooting back to my ivory tower, I stop for a coffee. I sip and scan the green slices of grass that break up the streets of North Melbourne. They are full of Melbournians and their friends. Blankets and baskets, with people gathered around, steaming drinks shared between companions. The sun has brought them out and brought them together. Further across the street people sip wine in the lowering light gently caressing the pub across the road.

On days like this, the sun with its restorative properties can indeed carry you into the darkest night. It brings people together and in doing so helps affirm that we achieve nothing alone, we stand where we do because of the help and kindness of others. Forces that try to disrupt the sentimentality of that fact are worth resisting. They try to take us away from one another.

During dark days and turbulent times, warmth is something we seek emotionally as well as physically. The simple candle I will light later in the evening, won’t emit enough heat to take the chill out even the smallest room, but it will provide comfort, an emotive response to its hue and fragility. A repose you didn’t know you needed until you had it. It can fill absence; not all the absences, but it can light their memory; flickering, not fading.

Before I light the match, I take the long way home. If you head west, down from the top of the hill on Collins Street towards the Spencer Street end on a glorious day in winter, the street and everything moving through it can appear in sepia, the buildings lined with golden thread, a line from another song that keeps me company, in the breeze and shadow.

There is the warmth of the sun to guide me home.