Let there be lights.

Winter reintroduced itself to us yesterday in classic fashion:
“Remember me? Snow, ice, temperatures in the 20s? It’s been awhile.”

The good news is that the shortest day of the year is behind us, and we get to keep the sunlight a little bit longer. The sun set at 4:38 p.m. yesterday. Today it held on until 4:39!
I’ll take all the light I can get, especially since November.

Now here’s a thought:                

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

There’s light in those words, spoken in the 1960s by Martin Luther King Jr. and inspired by a sermon given in the 1850s by Theodore Parker, an abolitionist minister. Both men were inspired by earlier writers, and by testaments new, old and even more ancient.

So, yes, the arc of the moral universe has been bending for a very long time.

Almost two months have passed since the election here, and I’m grappling with the feeling that the arc may slam into a stone wall. I will leave political analysis, autopsies and strategies for other writers. That's not why I'm here.

When I started this blog, I wrote in my profile that I "look for momentary joys." I’ve rethought — and reworded — that sentence today, because I realize it’s not quite true. I don't look for momentary joys — they’re already all around me. I just have to notice them.  

That’s why I’m here.

To that end, I’ll share a few I noticed recently from behind the wheel:

• Driving west on my way home from work, about an hour after sunset … Trees stand like sentinels in the lingering light, bare branches reaching up against a sky of dusky blue.

•  Cresting a hill in twilight … I slow, then stop my car for a gathering of suburban deer. A doe stands solidly in the middle of the road, looking calmly, and directly, toward the headlights. Three or four young ones mill around her, then trot up a hilly yard to the left, heading to the nearby woods. Spotting four more cautious types in the trees to my right, I creep slowly down the hill to let them cross in peace, and rejoin the party.

• Mid-morning, pulling out on a small side street … I spot a squirrel — and a flash of red — bounding across the road just ahead. I squint. What is that hanging from its mouth?

          'Tis a festive coffee cup, complete with white lid.

           I guess even a squirrel can use a coffee break — especially when you're hauling around something almost as tall as you are long. Impressive.     

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As we wrap up 2024 and head into the great unknown of 2025, may we all find light, hope and joy  — and not lose sight of that arc.