An afternoon of sudden darkness as rain weaves a lush bead curtain for the windows. Trees, roads, cars, women, even countries fall away from the sight. I wipe the cold pane, my hand prints like fossilized leaves, appear and then disappear.

Evanescent markings, like of thunder which spire or tree will it strike or scorch to tinder? This pause in our conversations as we listen, Passes. And then we continue to talk as if nothing has changed, the masks stay intact in place. Yet the skin underneath continues to change with every season of rain. A glassblower breathes into an umbra shaping there a water crystal, a world.