In the hollows of quiet places
we may meet,
the quiet places where is neither
moon nor sun,
but only the light of amber and
pale gold
that comes from the Hills of
the Heart.
~ Fiona MacLeod
In my own worst seasons I've come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again.