I saw a piece of art once.
It reminded me of hope, whatever the artist’s intention was. The setting was dim, almost dark, like when
you forgot to turn on a light after the sun went down. But in the middle were defiantly bright
flowers and fruit. I felt that the
dreary world was trying to stifle the hope, but the little bits of color stood
fast and determined against being conquered.
Hope isn’t always a blazing beacon; sometimes it is the
undying glimmer in the distant stars.
