I know when I go off the deep end. I can tell when my soul has crossed over to something numb or, worse yet, into the darkness. The warning signs show themselves in the condition of my house. The bed is not made. Clothes are tossed on the floor. Dishes, pots, and utensils are scattered all over the counter. Mail is piling up on the dining room table. Papers, books, and dirty coffee cups are taking over the living room. This “dark night of the soul” happened recently during the tumultuous end days of the 2020 election. I had worked hard on a local election, writing letters to the editor, serving as my candidate’s local outreach person, and making phone calls on the phone bank. My guy lost. Luckily, another person I was rooting for won. But I ended up disgusted with everything and everyone, including myself. The big, wide world was out of control, defective, and dysfunctional. It seemed like a very, very bad place to be.

But then something extraordinary happened. To me, it was a miracle, a gift from the heavens, a reprieve, a lovely shot of relief. All of a sudden, in my corner of the world, I was blessed with Indian Summer, a fantastic stretch of days filled with sunshine and warm temperatures. It was so unexpected and so generous, an escape sandwiched in between the darkness of human failings and the coming winter. I jumped on it, knowing its value and understanding the need to soak it all up before it was gone.

I walked in my woods every day, taking in its peace and honesty.

On another day, I took the time to look closer.

The weather allowed for social distancing outdoors, and I headed north to visit my friend, Tammy. Tammy loves beautiful literature, art, and the outdoors. She is kind, joyful, and has a deep soul. We spoke with trust and urgency about a wide range of subjects and the specific issues we were facing in our lives. On the hill under the pine trees behind her beautiful house, we created our version of “the red tent”. As the women of long ago came together to escape the pressures of their tribe and culture, we shared our true selves.

Every morning, the sunshine came. That day offered a chance to see another friend, Chris. We have been good friends for decades and arranged to meet at a state park on the river to walk and talk. I admire Chris; she is a great cook, gardener, and homemaker. I learned a lot from her over the years.

I took my camera; it always keeps me focused. It is an inexpensive, retired “point and shoot” that I purchased used on eBay. I’m set in my ways; it was bought to replace one just like it that was ruined by sand on a windy day at the beach. It is a simple machine, small enough to carry in the tiniest of purses, and it accompanies me wherever I go. It is unsophisticated. With its limited options and my limited skills as a photographer, I must work hard to discover the beauty of the world and let its existence inform the quality of my pictures.

On this day, as Chris and I walked and talked, I saw something brightly colored that was out of place. Settled in a small hollow in one of the cedars that grow in the park was the word “joy” painted on a rock. A caring person had created it, hoping another person would notice and appreciate it. I did, and now it is a treasured artifact in my home.

Every day, the news spoke about the bleak winter ahead that would engulf us with more sickness, death, and heartache. I felt the dread. I knew the warm sunny days would soon be just a dream. The weather grew colder, and the daylight hours became shorter. Darkness came. It weighed heavily, and we were all tired of it as it went on and on.

I have had other times in my life when I have been overcome by sadness. I remembered a particular time long ago when I thanked someone who helped me get through some very dark days. I gave him a quote, carefully mounted and framed,

“In the midst of darkness
I found the sun within myself.”

I remembered that quote, and it continues to remind me that how I experience the world is up to me. The news has recently discussed our current battle between fatalism and hope. Somehow, some way, I must continue to choose hope. I just need to never forget that no matter how great the darkness, the sun will always reappear.

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