It's nice to have the rain back, and even nicer that the air is not as cold as it was, so I can leave the window open a bit and listen to the trickling rivulet that is slowly eroding the slope where the wild plum grows. The night smells fresh, and its cool air moves over my skin with gentle insistence, telling me where I am. I've lately been sickened by abstractions, and need the restorative of the physical world. I've been wandering in my head and, worse, in other people's heads. I will go out and let the rain slap some sense into me. I will recall that I breathe molecules ages older than thoughts.