Fog Storm

Perhaps it’s raining softly, too softly to matter to the trees. I notice the rain as small droplets collect on my window. A mist hangs in the air. I open the window and the weather slides in, fills all the spaces in the room, chills my face.

Maybe as I walk beneath a sky that touches down wherever it wants to, I think, how quiet can this city get? There is water in my bottle of Evian, a water that will flow forever to the ocean, a water that connects the people walking the streets of the city every day, people who wonder if they should ever smile to one another. Perhaps someday they will, but today is not the day.