There is
something hypnotically wholesome about the patter of rain against glass. It
speaks of the wildness of the world while confirming its safety. The air around you is a jungle, the
water tells us, a marvelously untamed
sphere of dew and thundering weather.
Yet the
glass stands as an intermediary between the black void of the rainy night and
our warm-blooded bodies. The choice remains ours: to go out or to stay inside.
To adventure or seek shelter. To sojourn or to rest.
Windows are
ideal parents. Peer outside: is the peril worth it? If not, the glass remains.
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