I don’t think it’s just me, although it often feels like it. I cannot find the strength to be optimistic. Even though I consider myself to be fortunate, blessed, perhaps even spoiled, by life, when faced with a difficult situation I can find myself preparing for, perhaps even expecting, the very worst.
So I keep an eye out for hope. For joy.
For Some of Us
Hope is not a power
that can be conjured up
when the need is greatest.
Hope is the Downey Woodpecker
who somehow finds his way to the suet in the feeder.
It is not the faithful tide on
its steady time table of rise and fall.
It is the windblown shift of the clouds to
the east making room for the sunlight.
Joy is not the spinning carousel
of the seasons
but the unexpected snowfall
It is not the dependable rise of
the sun in a grey sky
but the singular sunrise painted
with pink and purple and green, even.