I’ve heard the dark described as the place where the light enters.
I prefer to think of it as a cocoon.
A cave.
The warm, safe hollow under the duvet where you read at night with a torch as a kid.
As the space where you whisper your dreams for the light to find them in the morning.
In the dark, I try to remember how it feels when the sun creeps around the curtains. The way it cracks open the cocoon. How it ends the long winter.
And how, when it does, there is a new day with new things to love and, in the space where you whispered your dreams without much hope at all, where it seemed impossible that anything should grow, is the very place green shoots appear.
Once Upon A Dandelion Dream 