I don't know its proper name. Some roadside thing, the kind you'd walk past a hundred times - a small clustered head on a thin green stem, going quietly to seed at the edge of the morning. The rain had just stopped. Everything was still dripping, the whole yard exhaling. And there it was, holding a single drop of water at its tip like it had caught something and didn't want to let go. That's the whole picture. One plain little plant, one bead of rain, and all that soft green light behind it. But that's what hope looks like to me. Not something grand. Not a sunrise over mountains. Just an ordinary, easily-overlooked thing that made it through the storm and is still standing - still holding on to one bright drop of what fell on it. The rain comes down hard sometimes. And then the smallest things catch the last of it and turn it into light. I almost didn't stop for this one. I'm glad I did.