Finding a Path to Light in This
Darkest Autumn
Crimson and gold leaves lit my path through the New England cemetery I
visited in October. Bright red beckoned me from the roadsides. I walked through
fallen leaves, lifting them with the tips of my shoes and tossing them to clear
my way.
Autumn in New England always signaled endings for me during the years I
lived there. I’m far more comfortable with my Florida falls, which spark my
senses with a taste of cooler, not cold, weather and signal beginnings to
me—time to leave the house and enjoy the outdoors, time to open windows and
leave air conditioning behind for a few short months.
After my years in the Northeast, when I returned to Florida, I was
grateful to leave those shorter, darker days behind me. I continue to be
soothed by the constant green of the leaf-filled trees and shrubs, and the
ever-present flowers that give this state its name.
This autumn of 2016 in Florida has had few cool days to delight me. The
heat continues with slight respites of below-90-degree days. They arrive in
short bursts, strung together like beads from a broken string of pearls.
Today, the shortest, darkest day, I feel the dark envelope me, as it has
since November 9. That dark is meshed into the fibers of my heart. Other
emotions accompany that dark: fear, wariness, concern, heartbreak for the
oppressed, whether that oppression stems from gender, color, ethnicity,
economic status, spiritual beliefs . . .
I know that after today’s dark hours—complicated here in my Florida home
by a sunless sky—mere minutes of light tack themselves onto these
light-deprived hours. That extra light beckons me to the bottom of my personal
Pandora’s box, where I find hope. I open the lid wide and release it. It does
not dispel the maladies swarming our globe, but like that hint of light, hope
illuminates a path in which I shall walk to alleviate my fears and make me less
afraid of the dark.
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