To Lighten the Darkness

Since CoVid-19 descended on us and spread its darkness over the world, neighbors in the Midwest have been creating points of light to cheer each other on their way.

            We put teddy bears on window sills.  The thinking was that children walking by would enjoy seeing the bears and be, for a moment, comforted in this time of unsettlement.  People around here responded to the call with enthusiasm, despite narrow window sills.  Some folks had svelte bears that fit nicely and displayed well.  Others had big bears and contrived ways to hold them in sight—one plump specimen hung suspended in a hammock.  One family had only a tiny bear, but put a sign in the window that said BEAR and made an arrow of blue tape that pointed to the little fellow.  We’re fresh out of bears but put up a beaver puppet as a stand-in.

            After the teddy campaign had been underway for a few weeks, I asked a neighbor if she thought children even noticed the animals.  She answered that she’d overheard a passing tot say to her mother, “Sixteen, Mommy, sixteen!”  The child was excited and pointing at the neighbor’s bear.  Our beaver puppet stayed in the window.

            Children took to the sidewalks with chalk to cheer people up, drawing gardens and suns and creatures, hopscotch patterns and mazes.  They left encouraging messages:  “Don’t worry!”  You can do it!”  “You are awesome!”  They put containers of bubble solution and wands in their front yards, and vignettes of fairies-at-home. 

            Older children and parents clearly aided with some of these efforts and with the painted rocks that started appearing beside area walkways.  Along Green Road and through the park, rocks of a size to nestle easily in the palm of your hand, came to snuggle by tree trunks and sit pertly on green metal utility boxes.  They carried simple designs and sometimes a word or two.  A line drawing on one used the shape of the rock to form the contours of a curled-up cat.

            Christmas trees went up early this year, their lights glowing through windows.  Outside, as usual, more lights festooned houses, shrubs, trees, and fences.  But this year, people also hung oversized ornaments on their outside trees:  big red balls and glittery snowflakes and silver pine cones.  This is new.  It’s as if everyone knows how much we all need delight and wonder and a little razzle-dazzle this time around.

            What happened in the woods, by contrast, had no razzle-dazzle at all.  No bears, no messages, no bubbles.  What it did have was its own light.  Not lights, just light.  Walking through the woods with the dog one snowy day, I noticed a gleam—a little blue ball ornament hanging from a tree.  By the next time we went through the woods, other ornaments had come to join the first.  Soon, balls of silver, green, red, white, blue, and gold hung at intervals from the north end of the woods to the path that takes us home.  Shortly thereafter, the balls went all the way to the south end.

            We had some little balls at home, green and silver.  We could be part of this.  Christmas Eve found my husband and me hanging the balls from trees along our going-home path.  We had fun, finding good spots and thinking of the people who would walk this way and be cheered.  Hanging the last of the balls, we heard someone call out, “Thank you!” and a couple on the main path waved and gave us a thumbs-up as they went by.

              The little balls in the woods weren’t flashy–you had to look for them.  But looking for them made you lift your eyes and think of something other than cold grey days and CoVid, smile a little and hold yourself a little straighter.  They beckoned you on your way, like tiny points of light leading you home.  Without planning or organization or anyone in charge, the community came together to lift each other’s spirits.  Neighbors decorated the winter woods and, without fuss or fanfare, created a light to lighten the darkness.  God knows we need it.

1 January 2021