My wife and I live in a valley. The valley of which I speak is real, not metaphorical. It is not as deep as some, maybe not as deep as most, but we generally have to look up to look out, which is sort of the definition of a valley.
Valleys have some interesting characteristics. One of these is the way water behaves in a valley. Water runs from upper to lower, so a valley is usually wetter than surrounding areas.
Unless the valley is Death Valley, which is not wet at all. Located in California, Death Valley is one of the hottest places on the planet. A clue to the heat and dryness of Death Valley is found in part of its name: Death.
Valleys can be metaphorical, so that a bad time or a difficult experience is likened to a valley. Most people have been in this kind of valley and are not at all fond of being there.
Valleys, though, are important. Most valleys (Death Valley being an exception), are very fertile. Things grow there, which explains why some of the best personal growth happens in the valley of difficulty.
And valleys provide perspective, which must be why they are passed through on the way to something else.
Friday and Saturday before Easter were deep valleys. Call them the Death Valley.
Then came Sunday.