Looking out the window on a damp, gloomy day, I see my little space on the earth below me. Rainwater flows down the sides of the street. A little boy's toy boat lay capsized without a captain, and the chalk of the hopscotch game washed away.
Meanwhile, outside, a few children in bright yellow raincoats and rubber boots jump in puddles and sail paper boats downstream, which are quickly sucked into a drain.
A pet lover braves the rain to walk their dog, begging it to hurry along as cats take shelter under the porch.
I retreat from my window and pick up the book I started during the last storm, dressed in the robe gifted to me by my daughter, who claims I shouldn't live alone anymore.
I'm far from being alone, more like a spectator watching from a second floor as the circus below me must go on. There are animals and clowns in yellow raincoats, show dogs and feats of bravery everywhere I look, as props float away only to be retrieved when the gloom turns to light.
What a difference a day makes as I wake to sunny skies and fluffy clouds. The once-moving water has dried up, leaving behind a rubber boot and a box of waterlogged chalk turned to liquid colors. I'll venture outside and sit on the porch to listen to the sounds I couldn't hear from my window. Kids' laughter, dogs barking, and finally the sound of the ice cream man, and a quarter burning a hole in the pocket of my robe.
Mike 2026 
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