3pm and on. Judging by the pale early darkness in between these houses, could be very well hours later. Disconnected from the flow for now and already done with the usual rhythm. Tea, to counter caffeine side-effects. A small candle. Fingertips in hot wax, by accident. At least at first. And even more rain.
Unto the storm. Music for drifting just slightly below grey clouds.
(Also, while on that wind: Writing some thoughts out to light sheets of paper. Folding them to planes and birds and letting them be carried away to murky distances. No matter how heavy, most things will fly given just the right approach.)
10am and on. A dense grey again, slightly less bright than yesterday. Keeping ones own light steady still, trying to be a bit from everything in everywhere. Breathing the scent of forest in the living room. The solemn in the memories.
10am and on. Exploring different kinds of rain. The mild one and the freezing one. The one to embrace and permeate everything, much like fog, the fierce, strong one to clear autumn trees of its last leaves. The one descending from dark skies with storms passing through. And the current one, prevailing in a state of grey, subliminal and yet seemingly always there.