Suspended for a time on the breathless threshold, we sense the shaft of Love that honours emptiness.

I look out my window at the leaves becoming daily more bright. Even the evergreen intensifies in response to the neighbouring reds and yellows. Branches are pregnant with cones and sugar maples toss their seeds through the air, offering themselves to the earth.

At this time of year photographic images of fall’s bright beauty proliferate and attached to them are words that encourage our gratitude. This is good and full of celebration.

When night comes though, all the colours gather into absence and we are left to warm ourselves at the remembered fires of the daylight or risk looking straight into the dark.

I gently recommend it. That initial clench of the heart against the thing that stirs our grief or makes us afraid is a doorway into a Presence more complex than brightness. Suspended for a time on the breathless threshold, we sense the shaft of Love that honours emptiness. We are embraced by the numinous life in the dark.

Not all our life is lived in colour. Sometimes the brightest of days is seasoned by the flavour of the night. Even before the eyes of your heart have adjusted, you may speak the brave, fluttering word of gratitude in the darkness and find its freedom.