The ‘Writers in the Pandemic 2’ class started yesterday. Today we are talking about hope and the idea has me deep in thought. It makes me wonder where inside us our hope resides. I think it is challenging to hold onto hope in a time when the truth seems fragile and promises our future lives hold more questions than answers.
Yesterday, I posted quick photos of sketches I made the day before 9/11. I reflect back on how frightening it was. I read through some old ‘Morning Pages’ and saw how my fear was reflected in my writing. The stage was set with a villain that must be destroyed — no matter the cost. On today’s stage, the villain is much more ominous.
So what are your hopes? How do you keep them accessible in the storm of confusion assaulting us at every turn. Where is the softness of your life that allows for a safe resting place for hope?
Yesterday on our morning walk, the air was clear and the sun illuminated the trees. Each breath was full of the scent of honeysuckle. The smell is delicate and fleeting. My mind asks “What is that familiar smell?” When I think of how many years back that smell exists in my memory, I feel a little hope. This fragrances has outlasted so much of mankind’s history. That simple smell gives me hope.
Much like the fragrance of the honeysuckle, hope wafts in and out on the breeze. But it is there.
The quote above was posted on Facebook this morning as a small hometown restaurant announced they would be closing their doors. They thanked everyone for their patronage all while maintaining an air of hope in what they wrote. That’s the kind of hope I want to hold onto.
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