Small Signs

* Last night, while putting my daughters to bed, my oldest, Emma, said “Dad, I have something I need to tell you.” At first I thought oh no, what did my eight-year-old mini-me do now. Instead she smiled and asked a simple question. “Do you know about Aquila ?” Well of course I did. One of two of my favorite constellations in the night sky, right along with Orion. Aquila - the Eagle of Ancient Greece who carried thunderbolts to Zeus. Altair is its’ brightest star, forming one of the three points of the summer triangle.
“We’re studying the stars in science class and each of us had to pick a constellation to report on. I chose Aquila because it made me think of you.”
* Early this morning, on my way to the gym, I received an email from a writer based in northeast Georgia, inquiring about usage of one of my photographs of a Golden Eagle on his web site to promote his newest work of fiction in which this magnificent bird of prey serves as principal image in the hero’s journey through various stages of life.
* While exercising in the gym at the Five Seasons Club (now go ahead certain readers of this blog and run the numbers on that one - it’s your favorite pastime), I notice that all the new weight machines have the brand name of - you guessed it - “Eagle” prominently displayed on the top. And then one of the few people in the gym at that hour is guy with a t-shirt on with a large eagle on the front, promoting the “Eagle 5K Race.”
* And then when I get into my studio and check my account on iStock Photo, I notice that the non-exclusive licensing rights for one of the 30+ photographs I have listed with this stock agency just sold on 12-17-07. It was another photograph that I have of that same Golden Eagle, taken in Ft. Collins, Colorado back in February of 2006.
Small signs. Immense meaning.
The Darkest Hour

December 20th, 1994. Never before, or never will it be again, as dark as it was for me on that day. The humiliation and destruction was nearly complete.
They almost succeeded. Almost.
Alone in the night, and the fears and anxieties close-in, hungry for the final thud of the coffin lid or the locked gates of places where people are conveniently placed away from sight, never to be heard from again.
I hit rock-bottom just days before the longest night of the year. I’ve been told to “get over it” and “move on.” But how can you when it is your own blood, and what makes the sting of this stigma and embarrassment so ever-lasting and painful are the echoes of the giggles, laughs and willing assistance of paid participants.
I’m like the ex-smoker who hates smoke-filled rooms the most. I know them so well because I was almost - almost - one of them.
Forgiveness is my only redemption. My only true hope for peace. At least I know this now, but I’m not there yet. I’m still fighting the hurt, the night, the darkness.
I don’t think it was a coincidence that such a painful fall occurred at that time of year, just as it I don’t think that December 25th was randomly chosen from the calendar as the date to mark the birth of Jesus Christ.
You see, it is in the darkest hour of night that the small signs of hope shine the brightest, marking the turning back to the sun, the return of hope and the promise of spring.
This year the winer solstice occurs on December 22nd, at 1:08 AM. From that point forward each day becomes slightly longer, the shadows a bit shorter and the night less and less overwhelming.
Even now, just four days prior, the small signs are appearing. Like the little bright lights on the Christmas tree that sits in the corner of the family room or the stars in the sky that make the Eagle.
As long as we keep looking and knowing and loving, the darkness will never prevail. Never.
Thank you Emma. I love you.
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