Rain On Glass
The night was having a character of its own: bit sullen but being diplomatic about it. I was called to work to deal with a situation; I started half whining for having my reading interrupted and half curious about the challenge. I stepped out to find it was raining - a subtle drizzle - a sort of a pixar version running at <2x speed.
As usual I drove to gates and punched in the keys. They have this elaborate Mission-Impossible-type security systems; the keys have to verified and then further codes have to be activated simultaneously by two separate guards at different locations, all after they have had a good look at your car via CCTV and ascertained that you are not Tom Cruise. The process usually takes somewhere about 8-10 minutes. I thought I could utilize the time to complete the ending chapter I had left unfinished.
As I opened the book, I saw this memorable view: Rain drops slowly falling and slithering down the windscreen , leaving behind their halogen shadows on the book. I briefly mused how centuries of civilization had eventually come to this interface: vapours compressed at miles above in the sky meeting high-compressed silica. So graceful, so brief, yet so incomprehensibly important.
But before I could drift away too much with such thoughts, the barrier opened with a screech. So there went another poem, I said to myself and revved up the engine.
As usual I drove to gates and punched in the keys. They have this elaborate Mission-Impossible-type security systems; the keys have to verified and then further codes have to be activated simultaneously by two separate guards at different locations, all after they have had a good look at your car via CCTV and ascertained that you are not Tom Cruise. The process usually takes somewhere about 8-10 minutes. I thought I could utilize the time to complete the ending chapter I had left unfinished.
As I opened the book, I saw this memorable view: Rain drops slowly falling and slithering down the windscreen , leaving behind their halogen shadows on the book. I briefly mused how centuries of civilization had eventually come to this interface: vapours compressed at miles above in the sky meeting high-compressed silica. So graceful, so brief, yet so incomprehensibly important.
But before I could drift away too much with such thoughts, the barrier opened with a screech. So there went another poem, I said to myself and revved up the engine.
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