Even pitch-black night

has light, or the dreams of it.  Something to consider (perhaps bring a smidgeon of hope) if you do read the newspaper.  
 

In this moment

                                                                   one can only hope.

Tenacity, progeny

and hope springing all around us.  

 

A flower suitable to pen a poem upon

 and lots of light which is a way of saying hope.

Embrace hope

The life force is alive and robust.    

Imagining yellow

Yes, eyes are painters. Use wisely & often. The same goes for hope.

Whatever is happening, it looks hopeful

 

At the center of these times are four letters:  HOPE.  Swirling inward and outward.  No separation.  The world's mirror is not static.  

From

From dirt & the confluence of weather & hope comes what feeds us.  I don't know how I know this (perhaps mostly from feeling) that it is the combination of dirt, weather, hope, and our bodies which produce poems of the ripe.  As you might imagine, I'm eating a persimmon (fuyu, of course) as I write this.  And I am imagining.  Later, I shall walk.