Each Bright Spot
When the ice has covered everything,
color takes on more importance,
each bright spot a reminder
that spring is not lost,
merely in wait.
About this poem
When I was in the midst of the worst of my depression, my therapist taught me to focus on the few good things I could find, no matter how small. The taste of a cup of coffee. Sunlight in the window. The feel of a flannel shirt against my skin. Holding onto and focusing on those tiny bits of joy can push back the darkness she said.
And she was right. I still do this, even if I am not in a dark place. It’s my lifeline to joy.
PS – The picture was taken on Pawlet Mountain Road, not far from where I live.