This is just an ordinary Tuesday morning. Nothing, absolutely nothing significant takes place. Perhaps the rain. It followed me from home, started at 4 am with bangs and flashes of light, scaring everyone out of their beds or deeper into the covers. Perhaps. The rain.
Rain is significant. It changes things. And lives. It puts people in a strange mood. Not one general mood. Just mood strange to each person. It changes things. Washes and takes away.
There is no rain without thoughts of something. Everyone thinks of something when it rains and it is the same something they think of each time it rains. So rain is a kind of a lost and found memory. A recurring memory like a skipping record. If at all anyone knows what is skipping record is nowadays.
A drop of water falling on your forehead at intervals is torture. I saw it in the movies. Read in the books about this. So what is all these drops of water falling all over the place all the time? Torture? Necessary evil? Or nature’s harmonic way of perpetuating our existence, until the end of each one of us, until returning each one of us to soil, to be eaten by worms, pooed as fertile soil to grow a flower that will be eaten by a cow that will give milk to feed a baby…
It’s just an ordinary Tuesday morning.
