On entering the tunnel, she thinks about the burdens she is carrying, which restrict quick movement. Whatever needs to be shed should be discarded forever.
The only way goes forward. It may be the Sun at the other end, or a gentler light or a different colour of darkness.
Yeah… this tunnel is ebony. Could darkness be burgundy like dried blood, deep violet like bruised skin or imposed navy of discipline? She smells seaweed and imagines leaves of a pine or juniper. Is there a crocodile in the pond which reflects a New Moon? Could there be orange embers in the stacked up charcoal?
She almost feels the warmth on her skin, to replace numbing chill.
She’ll find a brush to paint on a new canvas, and recreate life.
The tunnel does this to people. After experiencing absolute darkness, one learns to appreciate colours better.