When You're in the Dark

When you're in the dark, you have to try to remember that it's a dance - dark, light, dark, light, dim. Or when you're in the sun but the clouds come, of course you instantly think Oh, God, now it's going to get cold and wet, and it's all fucked, but then you might remember that when it was all dark an earlier time, your friends shined a little thin light on it, and you remember one thing that sort of helped, one more step you can take, maybe one more thing you can try.

I was reminded of something my friend Tasha told me once, that when she and her friends hike in a group, they leave trail ducks for the stragglers, piles of rocks by the path to show that they've gone left here, or right. I had to laugh, standing there in the open door: If a map, directions, GPS, and numerous highway signs hadn't helped, would we have even noticed a duck made of rocks? Well, yeah: I think so, deep inside. We had gotten there tonight, with enough time, and there had been warmth and tumblers of cool water. The rocks that marked our path had been the desire in our hearts to be there for one another.

Anne Lamott, Small Victories