It wasn’t hard to find a gem for today. All I had to do was turn on the television to see the Women’s Marches all over the world. I watched, my heart expanding in my chest, my spirit lifting, as people gathered and love took center stage.
And then I wrote. Because that’s what writers do.
About an hour ago, I took a walk to clear my mind. The fog gathered low and thick, Brigadoon-style, obscuring my vision in the darkness. Admittedly, it was a bit daunting to step forward toward something I couldn’t see, but that I knew was there.
Again, it brought those passionate marchers to mind. From the beginning of time, we have been blessed by those who have walked before us to light our way.
As I rounded the corner, I could make out what looked like two faint figures coming toward me. A cautious person by nature, I slowed my steps.
But what emerged out of the mist made me smile. There were actually three people, a man holding the hand of a young boy, but also carrying a little girl. She was joyfully waving her light saber and singing Jingle Bells.
Even the tiniest of voices can make hearts hear; even the smallest of lights can illuminate a path in the darkness.
The rest of the walk home didn’t feel quite so intimidating.
March on, people. March on.