Droplets drumming ripstop nylon?
Hard shoes and suitcases hitting cobblestones?
Gentle voices from down the way?
I can’t hear the meaning, but feel the intent.
Introspection has a soundtrack. It’s not quite music. It’s close enough, but simultaneously far. It is isolated details, still part the whole, insisting one pays attention. It is an aural invitation to reflect.
A gentle rain suspends the noise if I let it.
Keep chasing lights.
