Sunday Morning
One early Sunday morning, it was raining. The wet streets glistened from the rays of the yellow street lights and my eyes followed each rain drop catch the light in the black morning and drop on the black granite. It was hypnotic, the dancing golden rain. The roads were empty for miles, and the rain had a quiet audience and a stage that stretched to the invisible horizon. I watched my reflection in the window watch outside. I was the only one in the whole world. Then a car drove past. Its engine woke me up from the trance. I walked back to my bed. I would sleep to the footsteps of rain drops dancing and the gentle creaking of anchored sail boats and to the quiet meditation of the occasional car engines...