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It is cold, numb, darkness. The fresh, untitled face of the moon was not to be seen overhead despite the fact that her eyes were open. And, she saw nothing. Felt nothing. It is "T" minus five until disenchantment. There is no reason to fear the dark if it cannot be seen. The unknown was somehow familiar to her, for she prized the humility of not knowing. Not knowing did not mean she could not be, but that she must be. If in fact, she could not see, there would be no reason to see beyond ebony, fierce darkness. Perhaps she should feel cold, but she did not. The dark meant she was protected from what was to come.


And then...the rain came down on her face, as she lifted her arms slowly to feel the drops melt on her skin. It was mesmerizing and delightful, for these drops were a gift from the heavens in this time of uncertainty. Surely, God had cried tears of hope, as she desperately needed now more than ever. For the suffering was not enough without the chance to breathe in the scent of dewy lightness. The rain was gentle and harsh, in the most hopeful way.