A Parable For Why Jake Needs To Stay On the Couch And Rest Right Now Instead of Yelling At Me For Not Letting Him Go Outside And Do Things

I remember reading a poem once, or maybe it was a short story, in which the writer describes a farm after an especially horrible and violent storm. In great detail the piece tells of the flooded crop, the uprooted trees, the battered roofs and dented silos, livestock lying dead amidst the rubble of pig-pens and old barns, the windmill leaning to kiss the earth, stuff like that, and then describes the old farmer stepping out from the cellar to take stock of the damage. The farmer is sad and then angry. He laments his bad fortune and curses god and mother-nature for their indiscriminate wrath.

From this point in the story there's several resolutions that could all serve our current circumstances in a unique way. 1) The farmer puts on his work gloves, steps out into the post-storm sunlight, and starts picking up the pieces. 2) The farmer receives news of his neighbor down the road who was caught out in the storm and died, putting his own misfortune into perspective. 3) The farmer turns despondent and remiss, letting his farm slowly wither and fade, and lives the remainder of an impoverished and unsatisfying life.

All of these endings are applicable to Jake's situation now, but also all kind of prosaic and obvious, and frankly boring. This particular story chooses an ending that I remember caught me completely off-guard at the time, and now seems more pertinent than ever. Eager to mend the damage from the horrific storm, the farmer immediately sets out with his winter-coat, his snow-boots, and his toolbox, and slaves all day until the sun dips below the flat horizon. Satisfied with all the work he has done, the farmer decides to retire to the house and spend the rest of the night by the fire. He resolves to be up early and working again the following morning. In total darkness the farmer starts to walk towards his house. He is tired, his muscles are sore, the freezing winter air numbs his nerves, his emotions are still seething from the tumultuous episode of the storm. The farmer reaches the patio and steps onto the bricked path that leads to the front door. Having neglected to salt the walkway, the ice is thick and smooth. The farmer's foot slips and he drops to the ground like a cartoon character who's stepped on a banana peel. The farmer, just yards from his house, hits his head on a rock and dies instantly. The end.