Recently, I read a blog written by a woman who lives in arctic Sweden.  This means that for two and a half months of the year, she and her partner live in darkness, total darkness twenty-four hours a day.

    But they love it.  She and her partner find the winter arctic darkness fascinating, a delightful melding of mystery, silence, and intrigue.  In it, they encounter polar bears, and in it, they see caribou.  They also see the Northern Lights.  Often:  the show is unending.  And they make huge fires in their home and drink lots and lots of tea.

    She, the blogger, walks every morning, every noon, and every evening.  She always finds something new.

    Although I've experienced the endless sunlight of the arctic summer, I've not tasted its counterpart.  But I should.  There is something about the darkness, a cold and frigid darkness, that sets it apart, well apart, from all other experiences.  Winter darkness can be cleansing, scouring, even enlightening.

    Out of deepest darkness can come the brightest light.

    Of all kinds. Whether we see it or not.