Raindrops race down cafe windows like playful schoolchildren,

the street beyond fading to a watercolor of blues and greys,

headlights twinkling like stars through the watery veil.

The woman at the counter buys tea that smells of distant memories,

forgotten chess games and a crackling fire.

She pays in exact change, with crumbling dollar bills and new pennies,

the coins reflecting copper crescents upon the ceiling as they spin.

Porcelain mugs clink against one another,

their rhythm an ode to someplace else.

And outside this place-

one that exists just outside of time’s trembling grasp-

the rain pours down.