The first light is whispering over the mountain, the first song birds calling out to one another, making their plans for the day. Are you out there? Thinking of me. Listening to me.
We seem to know one another,
to recognize each other, our special tribe,
feeling sometimes like the fly caught in the web.
I know you are up, too, thinking of me,
waiting for me.
But listen,
aren’t we strong? Aren’t we just waiting for the daylight,
like the birds,
our precious little army, of people who feel, people
who tremble in the dark, people who love,
people who hope, people who know what it’s like to
feel small,
when it sometimes feels
as if the the whole world is
howling at us, or knocking us over,
or does not hear us at all.
Make your plans for the day, and watch
the night melt away like mist.
I whisper to you, softly, in your ear,
no, no, no. The dark is nothing,
it’s mother, fear is nothing,
just a visitor, when you reach out
to push it away, there is nothing,
nothing, nothing at all there.
The dark cannot survive the morning,
and is pushed aside every single day.
You can survive the morning. You will.
Are you out there? I am here.