I have a new coat, recently acquired. I didn’t plan on purchasing another garment but suddenly, I was aware of it’s presence and yes, the need to introduce it into my wardrobe.
The coat is not beautiful like others I once owned. I always favored distinctive colors. This one fades into anonymity and I am the only one aware of its presence.
I don it when needed, and that seems to occur more frequently as days, moments, and yes, hurdles appear in my new world.
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My coat is not a physical garment of armor, but a needed one to shield me from exposure of oh, so many perilous choices.
It keeps me from sharing my fear and insulates me from admitting the truth about aging. I do not wish to ever acknowledge the consequences of both or possibly admit them even to myself.
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My coat has buttons of humor that I grasp when needed and protects hidden tears from visibility. They are mine alone and not to share or inflict pain on others.
It has a collar woven of faith that keeps the new coat from unraveling and showing signs of decline. I often try to remember when I first donned this garment, and that seems like yesterday.
But of course, that isn’t true. It was possibly being designed the day I was born so I could wear it when needed.
