The rain has not stopped, nor has it intensified. Hour after hour it drips, until I no longer hear it unless I deliberately listen. So little rain for so many hours. The world has slowed, its movement unmarked by any stars, and I imagine the clock is about to stop. I would listen to, or ignore, this soft sound for ages and never know, and never mind. But I know that the sun will soon rise and, itself unseen or not, its light will reveal the slow drift of gray, restoring movement to the world. Another day, then another, then another.