I sometimes forget the light. When it is cold and dark and I am tired of being brave. I sometimes dwell on all the ugly tangles and hidden sneaky things when the moon is out—so bold and beautiful in her naked glory. Why must I see only the shadows she casts, rather than relish her bright light that sends hungry shades fleeing?

I sometimes forget that the darkest of winter isn’t the darkness of the soul. It’s my time to tend my roots and veins, my unfurled spine and dreams tucked between my ribcage—all the things that don’t need sun to grow, just my attention. So I make space. I spread out long and wide across my mat and relearn a body with so many stories packed inside it. What a relief to let them breathe and expand! I get big and bold in my daydreams, too, crossing continents and universes when I must stay put inside my apartment. Then I let my stories get louder, sweeping away the clouds with their piercing joy. We are allowed to know the ripe sweet burst of pleasure even when we’ve forgotten what it tastes like.

I sometimes forget to be the light. When it is so much easier to go dim and stop stoking the fires of my heart. But then I see tiny dots of hope in the darkest corners of a very dark year, reminders that when the earth seems dead, it is merely sleeping, gathering energy to bloom again in the spring. And there is always a spring.

Those little twinkle lights—so small and fragile—hardly anything at all. But enough to pierce the heavy cloak of midnight. Enough to poke holes in heavy thoughts and watch them sink to the bottom of my consciousness. Enough of them to light up a whole room—even just the one that refuses to be swallowed up in despair. Now that’s a worthy achievement.

They remind me that I can be a tiny spark of hope and not the wild bonfire I’m always expecting myself to be. I don’t have to keep feeding the dry-wooden fears that too-easily ignite and burn out of control.

I once forgot to make my home in the dark so that I may see the light. Now? I watch the setting sun. I feel the cold and silence creep in with the dusk. And I smile.

Time for twinkle lights and conjuring best done in in the velvet embrace of night.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday fantasy, and absolutely delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you.  If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is the everyday, subscribe here.

Want even more inspiration to make your dream life a reality?  Follow me on Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter.  Thanks for following!