A Fish with a Broken Leg

I know, I know. Fish don't have legs. But this fish alone does. And one of them is broken. How is unimportant. Suffice it to say that I had on very blonde fins that day.

And now, on top of the loneliness of this dark sea I can't even swim freely. Just walking is like being submerged at multiple atmospheres with heavy weights strapped around my waist. I try to glide or float but all I do is drag that damn foot along. I shuffle along at work amidst the pitying smiles of my coworkers, barely getting to the end of the day when I collapse in complete exhaustion.

I want to give to my friends and family. I want to look for that shining fish that I can leap and soar with. I want to dance over waves and beat rhythms over coral reefs. But I have no energy for anything but telling my body to heal.

And I can't help but wonder, why did this happen? What message is Poseidon sending me inside this strapped on cast? And am I ready to hear it?

The only answer I have come up with so far is to slow down. See my fibula as whole. Feel Thoreau's essential facts of life and find some wisdom in this broken time of full meanness.