Old and venerable enemy

A black dog stalks the halls and passageways. He is here to see me. He is no threat to my life, though he once was. These days his visits are mercifully infrequent. I sense his approach for many days so that his arrival is not a tsunami of despair, but more gently lapping waves of apathy and neurotic uncertainty. If he were to trouble me greatly there are some tablets that could put him, not me, to sleep. However, I prefer to ride out his company, let him bide awhile at my side. He will stay, even in a room full of people, determined to make his presence felt. Then, in few hours or a few days, he will slip quietly away. The sun will shine just that bit brighter, the birds sing that bit louder. For however much I hate that dog, he belongs to me, he is my burden and as burdens go he is not that heavy. Many of you, some my friends, carry far heavier burdens. So when my dog and I sit quietly together in the inky stillness I will be thinking of you and wishing you well. My troubles are light in comparison.