The light is changing. The cool winter blues are softening into tones of hopeful yellow. Two steps out the back door going down to the studio, I could feel it, see it. Bouncing from the woman at the door who welcomes me onto the back page of my sketchbook. Still a child at heart, I tried to capture it with my phone. Both women smiled gently — the same look Grandma Elsie gave us as we chased summer’s tail around the house.
And why wouldn’t I, we, try to keep in step with all that shines? To keep believing in goodness. Light. To keep understanding that there is no such thing as false hope, only hope. Yellow, gorgeous hope that keeps our legs spinning beneath us, delightfully, nearly off balance, yet always in the race.
I mention it because we don’t all get to see it every day. So I think we have the responsibility to call it out, tell the others of what we’ve seen. Shout it out until it’s their turn to step inside and do the same. I saw it, my friends. The yellow. Still shining. Bright as ever.
