I'm startled by the raindrops hitting my windows like so many destructive pebbles. Outside of the offended windows, stormclouds race each other across the sky as if they were the chariots of the gods locked into a cosmic contest. The sheets of rain follow tentatively after, sometimes carrying out their purposeful essence, sometimes holding at bay their cold power.
On the other side of the windows, my mind toys with the same options. To follow the clouds of innocuous evil that blow through my day, or to bleakly withhold my destructive tendencies under a grey and cloudy sky. Either path chosen, the day is grey and the clouds show no signs of departing.
I wander around my apartment with a mug in my hand, stopping occasionally to put away a sock or to wash a dish. Looking at the ceiling, a question occurs to me. My mind ponders how many different paths I can travel within the confines of the same studio apartment. Deciding that the answer is likely trivial, I ponder the liketime applications of the question. I turn it over, examine its sides, then discard it on the ground in favor of the momentary entertainment afforded by my guitar. Restless after a moment, I stand up and begin wandering again. A thought grabs my attention, and a serious smile takes captive my face. I pick up a pen and spill through it my soul onto a piece of paper as the first rays of sun break through the clouds and gain entrance into my windows.
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