A story came to mind because of the lack of rain, though as I get ready to submit this, it is raining. Hurray. We have been seriously dry here by the shore. The cedar trees along the retaining wall beside the driveway are showing stress. They are now included in my extensive watering routine. Which brings me to the story, one I learned from Margret Silf's One Hundred Wisdom Stories.

A gardener had two buckets, one new and one so old that it leaked. A path led from the water source to the gardens, and the gardener always carried the buckets in the same hand. As summer progressed, the leaky bucket lamented that it was not as useful as the new bucket. The gardener pointed back along the path. "See how one side is dry, gravelly, barren. What do you see along the other side?" "Wildflowers, lots of colour, rich green." "That's the side I carry you on."

Logically, if I was the gardener, I would switch hands. But this is a story designed to convey a point.

The story reminds me of an evocative line from a Leonard Cohen song, "There is a crack, a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in."

In our heads, we know that light comes from a release of energy from the sun or a light bulb or burning wax. Yet, Cohen's line resonates with us. We experience light reaching through cracks.

In a dark room, where there is a light on the other side of the door, tendrils of light creep along the floor almost as if reaching to touch our toes.

Standing in our barn, where it was always somewhat dim and dusty, sunlight would stream through the cracks between the barn boards. The edges of the grey boards were illuminated. Lines of light would lie across the bales of hay. Dust could be seen in the air. It was beautiful.

Through breaks in the clouds, we see streams of light reaching from on high to touch the earth, the water. Sometimes we see the circle of light these beams make on the surface they touch. It is an uplifting impression of relief, hope, good coming after a storm. How many cards, pictures, and social media posts have you seen with this image expressing the promise of good reaching through the challenges?

As the leaves in the forest unfurl, the feel shifts. Light marks small patches on the pathway, illuminates the edges of the leaves. The shadows are no longer stark but soft, gentle, inviting.

It is possible to block the light. Shutters and blackout curtains make it possible to darken a room so that the shift worker can sleep. We seek darkness so that projected light, for a movie or presentation, can be seen. It is important to remember the gift of the dark. (Which is why I omit two words of my closing quote.)

Cracks can be a gift that let in light, hope, possibility. The opening story tells us is that being leaky can be a gift. Not leaking anger, but leaking water--kindness, joy, appreciation, optimism. Cohen reminds us that a closed system keeps everything else out. We need the cracks to allow nurture in, the spaces where hope trickles through, the gaps where something new is seen. Something touches our spirits when light is seen breaking through.

As I think of the cracks that let the light in, I am reminded of a quote from L. R. Knost, "Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world. All things break. And all things can be mended. Not with time, as they say, but with intention. So go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally. The broken world waits...for the light that is you."

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibwa