The night was restless and I passed the time counting rain drops against the window and the time between drops as they fell off the wires on the side of the house.
I noticed the currents of water as they flowed down the street like a makeshift river – here today, gone tomorrow, like his memory and how the stories he tells don’t have right endings but instead they race down the street disappearing when the morning comes.
He surprised me when he said he liked cats, more than dogs, then let the conversation trail off to something like silence.
I could still hear his thoughts churning and waited patiently for whatever winds would blow next.
He ended up complaining about the traffic and went off to take a nap.
The sun shone again in the early afternoon drying the drops on the windows,
(they had been so visible during the night now leaving only the pattern of light through the blinds onto the rug.)
A straight line pattern – not tangential like the way he speaks , but like a ladder that could be climbed until there is that sunny clarity that comes over the horizon and displaces those raindrops that once ran down the window.
Pictures Assembled From Memory 