I walked in the pasture today.
The sun shone, but a chilly north wind rattled the bare branches of the trees and rippled the grass beneath my feet. Brown. Everywhere I looked, I saw somber shades of brown and grey. In the grass, the branches, the rusted fence posts, the curled leaves. I sat under a tree and an empty cicada shell rattled down the hill. All around me, the world felt dead.
The reality was that under that dead façade, life pulsed in a myriad of colors. There was the brilliant blue overhead.
Small ants scurried around my feet, working frantically before the next cold front arrives. Birds twittered. Shakespeare the mini-schnauzer snuffled in the grass, then dug enthusiastically to try to reach a mole or a gopher buried deep underground.
I knew that in the branches of the tree above me, blood will flow again. Leaves will emerge.
I found that if I parted the dry grass, at its base I could see small green shoots.
I discovered a patch of chickweed, Spring's hardiest edible, pushing its way through the dead leaves and grass to reach for the sky.
On these days that are only shades of brown and grey, there are reminders that winter is not forever.
Struggles come. Bad things happen. Depression threatens to overwhelm. And yet I know that underneath the darkness, through these winters of the soul runs a current of Life and Light that is far more eternal than what we see with our eyes. Weeping may endure for a night but yes, joy will break through in the morning.