It Has Been Morning

Dawn wakes us up in ways that are different. I wonder what kind of dawn awaits me tomorrow. Will I face new waves of darkness, rain, and the pitter-patter of its drops letting me know of its existence? Or will I be awakened to the warmth of the lovely Yellow Face, inanimate as she is?

Sometimes, I look for hope when there has been none. It’s hard to see it if I am surrounded by clouds of darkness and despair. But hope in itself irrigates the land we’re upon. Like roots beneath the soil, it works quietly, unseen, steady. It matters not how many fogs there are about, as long as the ground is steady. It may, for a while, blind us, but we can always keep walking – yes, walk - but with purpose.

Even if it’s unclear, as long as you’re moving, you’re living. Life goes on, and we aren’t the better for it if we remain stuck in the clouds.

Who knows whether we’ll gain an entrance to the paths of the sun?

We shall try and try again.