I used to work by the airport, amid a dreary wasteland it seemed, and every day, I would pass a large plant along the highway. In a way, this bleak landscape was a physical manifestation of what I was feeling inside: barren, lonely and dark.
Along the highway, I saw tall poles, and at the end of them were large flames of fire dancing along the skyline. It became habit to search for these flames through the dreary white snow. I even looked forward to finding them every day, imagining that they weren’t some pollution creating mechanism but beacons of hope.
As spring approached, these flames became much harder to find. Some days I didn’t find them at all and wondered if they were even lit during the spring and summer. One day after several weeks, to my surprise, I saw my beacons of hope again. They had been there all along, but it was just too bright to see them.
Though I do not wish to relive those dark dreary days again, it was during these times, the light was easiest to find.