I’ve had a cold for the better part of the month. I’m operating at 60%, which sucks.
Everything seems impossible, or, at the most, slightly doable.
Deep down I know it’s the sickness that’s clouding my vision.
Yes that’s it. The real me must be curled up in hibernation somewhere waiting for the storm to pass. I can’t seem to wake him up but he stirs occasionally.
Like this morning, I went down to the garage to pull out the car.
The car barely fits in our garage (we have to pull the mirrors in), so, to get in the driver’s side door, I have to shimmy my way past.
As I was doing my shimmying, I noticed a single dandelion, bright and gold poking its head up where it’s not supposed to be, through the cement where the wall meets the floor.
And it may sound crazy, but that dandelion talked to me, perhaps because I was the only one in the room.
It talked to me, and you know what it said?
“Dude, it’s all good.”
—
(Strange words, coming from a dandelion. Honestly, I was hoping for something more profound.)
But as I side-squeezed my way into the car, I noticed I was smiling.
If that beautiful gold weed can sneak through the hard, impersonal grey of a damp garage, then so can I.
If all the rain coming down creates something beautiful coming up, then the rain’s on my side.
—
Soldier on, sick boy. Let the storm do its thing.
In time the gold will emerge.