
Hope is trusting the lit-look steps, the wild, trod-less path, the unfolding
Hope is doing the work of seeing and accepting and atoning
I know how to live in hope. But the waiting? There’s no certainty there
Instead, a doubt, doubt, doubt, shoe’s gonna drop sometime
Hope is a cloudburst of love. Waiting is the tension in the tight bud of unknowns
Hope is Spring. The Great Mother. The stars. Winds of change.
Hope is fertile and dreamy. Waiting is heavy. I remember the weighting—
how the pounds piled up in those peri-meno pandemic days
Hope is never abandoning myself again. Waiting is needing validation—
someone outside to approve or change. Hope is the lighthouse, the bridge,
the pathway home
~ by Angela Dawson
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