In the depth of winter — Albert Camus

Some winters are seasons. Others are states of mind — grief, exhaustion, doubt, the long stretch where nothing seems to grow. Camus wrote this during the bleakest chapter of occupied France, and yet what emerged from him was not despair but this: the knowledge that something warm, something unbreakable, lives at the core of every person.

You don't have to wait for spring to feel it. It's already there.

Start this Monday with that certainty.

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Photo: Misty sunrise over Krøderen forest by Barnabas Davoti — Pexels