Just two days ago I was motoring morosely along when I spotted him placing an envelope in his mailbox. I hit the brakes and lowered the pickup window.
“If that’s a check for me, I’ll just take it now,” I said. “Save ya the stamp!”
“Ha!” he said. Then, waving the envelope with one hand while pointing at his house with the other, he said. “I’m mailing this so I can keep that!”
There followed some goofball back-and-forth, and Denny wouldn’t know it and doesn’t need to hear it, but when I turned up the hill toward our farm I was lighter in my heart.
That is no doubt tied to the fact that some of my current darkness is drawn from the general determination of a large portion of our population to cast each other as irredeemably idiotic. I have to guard against that myself and find talking to the neighbors helps.
I don’t mean to suggest the black dog is easily brought to heel. I’m thinking right now of all the farmers we’ve lost to suicide.
Across all ages and professions I hope openness about mental health continues to grow. We’ve come a long way since I was writing up those nurse’s notes, but so much work remains.
The dog is dark, but today I got off light. After a cold gray morning the sun busted out and illuminated the tiniest slice of green peeking from a bud on a branch outside my window. It was a work of natural art, a metaphor, a reason to wait around and see what comes next.