It’s always the bad things that knock you off stride. They arrive,
from beyond the field of vision, and slam hard into your face.
Shouting and demanding attention. Then pretending to disappear from
view, but creeping back and whispering, insistently, messages of
loathing and paranoia. The bad things can be hard to ignore, to push
back and lock away.

Sometimes, the bad things are here for a while; they know and you know
they are there. The bad things linger, pointing a crooked finger, dirt
beneath the nails. The fight will be a hard one.

But, I believe in good things too. Good things are not so obvious in
their approach, not pushy or nagging. They lift you up in their hands,
carried overhead, neck soft and eyes cast upwards. The good things
toch softly, with tenderness and care. The good things are momentary,
like glimpses of frozen webs caught between the sun and the morning.
The good things are the warm, light touch of the breeze, gently
brushing by and gone.

The question is, not just one of timing, but of importance: where we
value the good things and the bad things. Neither survives without the
other, but neither need be the only thing capturing our senses. We
balance, we tip-toe and totter, but the good, like the warmth of the
late afternoon sun, draws us naked into its arms. And to it we go,
naked and exposed. Naked and afraid. But we go.

The timing is not great, but the timing is also irrelevant. It is the
good thing to come, the explosion of colour and vigour. The timing of
that can never be wrong.