Two months. That’s sixty days. It’s exactly one thousand,
four hundred and sixty hours, or eighty seven thousand, six hundred and fifty
eight minutes. Convert it to seconds, and it turns to a million ticks of the
clock. More than a million ticks of a clock, means more than a million possible
moments. All of those possible moments, all of those possible feelings, all of
those possible emotions, like a vast kaleidoscope of life and its moments.
Of a million moments, thousands of emotions, hundreds of
experiences, and all of those stories, the past eight seven thousand and so
minutes, have had that one very thing in common – a happy golden.
A shade of golden, pure, gleaming, glowing like the first
rays of sunlight that sneakily peek into cold, dark morning rooms, chasing and
hiding between tiny cracks in the curtains, like a string of shimmering gold
beads, radiating their warmth and glow and breaking the silent, dark stupor of
the night.
A warm golden, of an April morning after a week of bleak,
watery, chilling snow, a golden as the sun awakes into the sky – blue at last –
and slowly, drowsily spreads its arms and stretches its body as far as it goes,
shaking the faint slivers of cold off the trees, and into the cracks in the road.
A rich golden, of gold birthing rubies and emeralds on the smooth, soft expanse of pampered skin, gleaming and proudly shining among greedy eyes and empty smiles, like a prodigious star floating with lonely asteroids.
A golden - that shines, that gleams, that glows, that beams, that radiates warmth, and happiness, and richness, and purity. A golden that speaks of only all that is rich and right and good about the world.
For it is a happy golden, that colors those eight seven thousand minutes, and those million moments. A golden, that's made these two months a plethora of happiness and warmth. A happy golden, that makes me write right now, and a happy golden, that predicts a future built on warm mornings and stars.
