Here we are again. Looking through the windshield.

A light misty rain’s got the whole thing covered in tiny water droplets. Miniature clear beads coating the glass and slowly—-ever so slowly—-melting down the grade and blurring the world outside.

If it were raining harder, the water would run faster. Still, it’s flowing. Faster than the glass it’s sliding down anyways. Glass flows. Look it up. So the water droplets are nearly stationary but not quite, gravity pulling the whole screen down and tiring all. Shit.

Bird shit. Four milky splats. Degenerating amoebas with porous boundaries, losing shape, running into and through the channels trickling down the not-so solid glass. Conduits attracting their own and becoming one. Tiny rivers now more seminal in appearance and viscosity.

As for the darker nuclei, those remain intact (the bird shit’s darker nuclei, that is). The grainy black yolks stand their ground, hold the line and dare the now heavier rains: We will not be so easily washed away.

“Papa.”

“Yeah?”

“How much longer?”

Shit. We’re late for school again.

---