Burgeon with life.

This past week and weekend have kind of knocked me flat in all ways, and any bit of inquisitiveness I have has been expelled in a gray vapor, and my brain is flat and buzzing, like wires that don't connect in the right ways. I am at present moment unable to cast a joyful sheen on anything, am unable to seek the big picture, or to count the ways in which I have lovely in my life. My eyes are straining and itchy and I just don't see it. I know my vision will clear. I'm actively wiping at the goggles as we speak. But for now, a tiny lovely from two weekends ago, when everything seemed a lot nicer. It's fungus growing from a decaying log, proof that even when things are ugly, there is always lovely: that something, as it dies, can burgeon with life, sustain other lives.