It’s a dark and misty morning on Halcyon Pond. I long to sit in the foggy quiet, but Friday is my day to venture out.
Emerging from the darkness of the country roads, I see the unnatural glow at the horizon. The mist captures the light, encasing the highway exchange in a post-apocalyptic bubble. The lights on the highway are like blinders, limiting my view to only that which is immediately around me.
I am enveloped in our fear of darkness and in paradox. The bright lights are like thieves, stealing our view of what is beyond their reach.
But isn’t it on the darkest nights that the stars are brightest? Wouldn’t it be tragic if our fear of the darkness kept us from seeing the stars? Or if our “illumination” robbed us of our dreams of what is beyond us?