I went outside today without an umbrella just to feel the rain on my face, rain pelting the wrinkles out of my shirt, my hair filling with rainwater, smoothing runaway wisps flat to my head.

On this stolen day, with rain snaking down the window in rounded paths, my mind wanders back to a fading dream: a fantastic landscape brimming with colour and asymmetrical shapes, seen through the walls of a glass chamber that flew through air in intricate spirals, dizzying and exhilarating. I remember the journey but not the destination.

Rest, for a moment, in the stillness of stone, of dawn, a lone star that appears in your dreams. Eyes closed, your palm covering your face, I cannot remember the word for beauty. It rains in summer; subtle, silent breezes are kidnapped by heat, except on days like this, when rain sweeps in wet, volatile wind, ushering you into long sleeved shirts.