A Miracle Shortchanges

The man was blind from birth. In that village he was the only one who had not seen the morning sky so fiery red. The local antiquarian was certain it owed to something of the dust that swirled over the village. The morning sun gave a glow that was unique to their village. Rich or poor, young or old, man or woman, morning came every day like a blessing. Zebediah the blind missed it and was most pitied for it.
One morning a healer came. He saw Zebediah and took pity on him. With one touch Zebediah got his sight. A miracle it was. Zebediah was like every one else.
He picked up a trade and became a housepainter. In search of his livelihood he had to move to a town so far away. He loved colors and was always mixing colors. The fiery red that he saw first thing in the morning he tried to duplicate without success. He became disappointed at his failure. The more the exact shade eluded him more nostalgic was he for the morning scene he was used to in his native village.
One day a part of the town went up in flames and Zebediah was caught and was shut up in a gaol for arson. For life. He hoped the miracle man would come once again and spirit him out of his gaol. Unfortunately it never happened.
He ended rotting in a rat hole.
A miracle is fine, but it shortcuts a valuable commodity called experience.
benny