Rain brings back the pain of past breaks; the aged feel the ache in thier bones
Something about the grey sky makes my brain swell and press against my temples, the windows keep me safe and make reality into a painting.
The leaves remind me that life is there, buried in the dead sky. Even death is life and the rotting leaves make steam rise from the ground.
The cold stone columns rise above our heads and frame the sky.
From the damp ground I breathe in to catch the smell of earth-- the only smell that blends life and death.