Nice rainy day and silence enough to hear the raindropping and dripping off the leaves, a random rain sound but for those drops dripping off the corner of the barn which, at a given point of saturation, become a synchronic metronome.
Good day to think about the space and tricks of light and darkness, where the sun creates a different scene than this grey dullness constantly in motion, each drop a fall of measured distance, each spot, beyond its own globular distortion changing what is there.
The grass at midnight turns the color of the asphalt road it borders. It truly does; whether I am there to witness it or not. But then again, the times that I have been, I too become one with the grasses and the road, as well as trees and buildings and the sky.
So if darkness is the time of unity, is there any doubt that day, its opposite, is one of strife?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology