Art by Diane Fredgant
When hope is crushed,
Is it like clods of earth ground to mud, sticking in foulness to my boots as I walk?
Is it like the gorgeous fall leaves, still whole and luminous when they drop from the tree,
but suddenly gray and ugly once they land?
Or is it like tomatoes, whose sweetness emerges when their solid form is gone?
Or like hearts that become oh so tender when they have known breaking,
miraculously open to softness and empathy?
