The Dance

I can't remember the last time I woke up to a cloudy morning in New York. After days and weeks of brilliant sunshine and infinite horizons, today began with a sepia-toned skyline through a pointillist window... You have to look twice to see the architecture jutting through a hazy downtown mist behind a rain-spattered window. Ah, to look twice. So seldom do we ever look at all. We take our route, collect our items, do our bidding. Life becomes a series of movements. And rather than struggle to become dancers, we slip too easily into familiar machinations. Until the thunder rolls across the landscape and suddenly you have a reason to look twice. But then again, it's not like we've never seen the rain. Maybe today can just contribute to a long series of things I did before I died: perfected monotony.

Lists. Lists. Lists. Things to do. Things to get. Things to read. Because otherwise, I will forget. Still, today requires a different way of doing things. A way that allows for quick glances to watch the lightning crack across the sky and time to listen to the rain drum against the windows... that allows for today to be different. And perhaps a dance to be dreamt.