Pots of Gold

Across the street, kids of various ages are playing in the early spring sunshine. Every single one of them is wearing something green. Sure and it’s St. Patrick’s Day. 

I’m wearing green too, sitting at my computer looking out because I’m still dealing with an apparently invincible virus. Sitting at my computer and doing basic cat chores is the extent of my activity between reading and resting. All of my muscles will atrophy if I don’t get better. Tomorrow will be my back-to-health day. It must. 

Yesterday I sent an e-card to my two sons, wishing them the luck of the Irish and all peoples, and a pot of gold. 

This, in honor of the Irish and St. Patrick and my two sons, is designed to define what I mean by a pot of gold. It is, in my metaphor, that which we create by following our individual rainbows. My rainbow is writing. So far, it has yielded one book (and lots of shorter works) and is on its way to a second (now being edited) and I have the stirrings of an idea for another. One of my sons is always following rainbows, creating poetry and songs and films and art of every beyond-my-imagining kind. My other son is still figuring out where his rainbow will lead him. It will be, when discovered, a mirror of his own worth. 

That’s what the gold does. It reflects our true selves, in one way or another. And every single one of us has some kind of treasure. 

And if this doesn’t make complete sense, then blame it on the virus. And have a wonderful St. Patty’s Day.