Synonymia (si-no-ni’-mi-a): In general, the use of several synonyms together to amplify or explain a given subject or term. A kind of repetition that adds emotional force or intellectual clarity. Synonymia often occurs in parallel fashion. The Latin synonym, interpretatio, suggests the expository and rational nature of this figure, while another Greek synonym, congeries, suggests the emotive possibilities of this figure.
The sun, Helios, the burning orb. It makes shadows as it shines—the flat black and gray images, stretched and pulled across every surface on earth except glass, water and other earthly aspects that reflect what sunlight brings to life.
It is winter here and the sun is shining; the sky is a cloudless corridor to outer space. It is cold, -4 F. You go outside and the mucus freezes in your nostrils. You try to start your car—the starter growls and then it gives up. Nevertheless, the sun has some effect: mainly to give you a sunburn on your face if you stay outside unprotected, as if were summer without the warmth. There’s probably an explanation of winter sunburn on Wikipedia, or maybe it’s some kind common knowledge that I’m too undereducated to know. But I do know I have gotten winter burn several times. My cat won’t get it though.
We have a full height glass storm door with a southern exposure. We leave the door open and the sun streams through the storm door’s glass. The black cat—Sidney—lays on his back there like he’s on a piece of pool furniture, lounging, waiting for his Fancy Feast. The sun’s light streaming in generates heat—so much heat that it affects the thermostat in the hall, throwing it off by five degrees, while the rest of the house becomes chilly. After the sun goes down, or on a cloudy day, the cat stretches out in front of the heat ducts in either the mud room or the kitchen. I don’t how he chooses between the two ducts, but I wish I could join him basking in the burning propane’s blowing heat.
Sunlight. Daylight. Sunset. The magical star that brings warmth, growth, healing, closure, and life to our otherwise dead planet. Try to understand it’s mystic ubiquity, as we see that the Sun, like everything else we humans interact with, can injure and kill—skin cancer: a slow, drawn-out, unhurried death. It’s true, and it’s ironic, like everything else.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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