Hope so often manifests itself on an as-needed basis.Thus it is that in these days of protracted darkness, the eyes of the soul adjust to the lack of light and are given the opportunity to see what is, perhaps, always there but often not perceived. Sometimes dim shapes emerge and overtake us as awareness—that we are grateful, or longing, or in awe. Other times, insights shimmer like northern lights—sudden, glorious, elusive flashes of significance.
i was gifted recently with one image of hope that I carry with me into the new year. Three days a week, I drive a curve of road along the Stillaguamish River. One glorious morning when the snow had descended to the foothills, the glint of sunlight caromed off the white mountain tops and cascaded onto large shards of ice strewn across the pasture ahead. It was as if White Horse Glacier had inexplicably shattered and tumbled into the valley below. Those dazzling white crescents were no glacier offspring, however. From much farther away the Snow Geese had arrived! From distant tundra, they’d winged their way over mountains and plains to arrive in this particular field to feast on stubs of corn stalks. Thus it was that they and I were at the same place at the same time. I marvel at their size with a wing span over five feet. I marvel at their pristine beauty that gives them their name. I marvel at the length of their breathtaking journey—over 3,000 miles. But mostly, I marvel at the improbability of their and my being in this same place and moment. If they notice my yellow beetle skimming alongside them, they do not show it. Likely, they’ve seen more impressive sights. But I am changed by having seen them
