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Hope is a Choice (pell)

uploaded: Tue, May 12, 2020 @ 4:51 PM last modified: Tue, May 12, 2020 @ 4:56 PM (add)

by	Snowflake
length	3:13
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I’ve been writing this, a little every morning, for the past two weeks. It is a true story. :)

May we all emerge from this as better humans — even if no one else does.

This change is a catalyst for those of us who care to see this world be a better place. I can feel it.

Hope is a Choice
by Madam Snowflake

As I awoke this morning, a lively, resonant dawn chorus sang these words:

“Hope is a choice.”

In the dim shadows of my bedroom, hope feels like a distant daydream.

But the glorious sunrise persists.

A soft glow reaches through every crack and seam of my window curtains, and sublime birdsong increases with harmonic vigor.

The same message resounds:

“Hope is a choice.”

“Right now I choose to hide,” I say aloud. My cocoon of a bed feels safely removed from a world in chaos.

But under the spell of melodic admonition, I rise, open the curtains and then, the window.

Immediately, nature’s generous beauty envelops me. A multitude of green trees are pierced by rays of golden light. The trees stand as guardians, to purple, yellow, orange, pink, and white flowers dancing with a whispering wind. An orchestra of parrots, crows and finches in surround keep rhythm with the bubbling fountain. And the intoxicating smell of jasmine beneath my window beckons.

But the sorrow returns. I can no longer see the high mountains on the far horizon that global quarantine had surprisingly revealed just weeks ago. The peaks are once again cloaked by gray, opaque pollution.

“We can’t stop ourselves, from destroying ourselves.”

A low police helicopter reverberates a thick fear in the sky, and the wild roar of the freeway is a dissonant echo in the canyon.

But then, I hear a sweet young Phoebe fledging with the guidance of its parents. I see a squirrel quietly drinking from our fish pond. And a monarch circles directly below my window.

Hope is a choice.

I muster my courage.

I alone can change, stretch, grow — even if the world falls into deeper darkness.

Outside my backdoor, two butterflies in my mesh habitat have just emerged from chrysalis, their wings still small, folded and wet.

Their journey to transformation inspires mine. I vow to adopt that slow, steadfastness to complete regeneration.

For one day too, I will fly.

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