Hope (and walks and whooshing parachutes)

A few days ago I received a response from the Publishing World that was positive.

Not an acceptance, but a respectful nod in my direction, so to speak.

A baby toe in the door.

It was something to celebrate. A whoosh of elation. But I held back from becoming a complete happy hurricane.

Sort of like a big, colourful parachute that kids play with: it is whooshed up into the air–look at it go!–but held down by hands that don’t want it to flutter away, out of control.

Up and down the parachute is whooshed, and up and up the heart fills with a light joy. 

The parachute can fly, certainly, but there is something very special in the whooshing.

Or like walking through the woods and you see light streaming through the trees. In itself the light it beautiful, but you know that if you keep on walking you will eventually get to a clearing where the sun shines brightest.

Eventually…right?

I’ll keep on walking. Because the walking itself is something to cherish. 

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