I rise early in this place, the light from the rising sun creating a soft halo on the ridgeline beyond my window, a soft quartet of early spring arrivals replacing the chorus of peepers that accompanied my fall into sleep. In the afterglow of the night, the silent, patient witness of the ever green is mirrored in the still dark waters of the lake.

Sometimes hope comes in a flash, I suppose, with the arrival of the unexpected.  Like despair at the onset of sudden tragedy, it can appear out of nowhere, the trajectory of life altered in an instant.  But more often I think it is like this… soft, slow, subtle… one day you awaken to notice that life is full of potential.  Gradually, without fanfare, the light returns.

A blush of fuchsia colors the western notch. It lasts but a moment, but caught in the act I see, her response to the arrival of that sun opposite her, blessing her before the blanket of gray emerges from where it was hidden by the dark.  Of course, there was a kiss after all that stirred her heart awake.

Sometimes it is essential to keep one’s hope tucked away, hidden like a secret between a bride and her lover. To the unseeing eye, the overcast horizon may bear signs of impending gloom, but you have seen the blush . The cold rains of the day are mere moisture.  She can bury herself in the covers of the morning-after, the seeds in her womb dancing. 

The slow growth of her hope is now certain, for those seeds survived, buried in the place where she dropped them before the long freeze. This is not new, nor is it sudden, it is merely awakened from where it lay dormant so long, her goodness stirred by the warmth, nay the fire, of a kiss.

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