A good friend of mine told me yesterday that after six months of being seizure free with epilepsy he had another seizure. Essentially revoking his license to drive, his freedom, and his ability to paddle. This really wouldn’t be so bad if he hadn’t already been through this cycle once before.
No one wants to hear the caged bird squawk. It is unpleasant, they sound like dusty old flatulence. However if I squawk for him he seems like a noble, injured creature deserving of our encouragement.
So with this in mind, I give you D. H. Lawrence:
bq. I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
I hope he is on the mend soon, and out on the water.