A Different Day

The rain was pouring down, as it often does; shelter was too far away, and the day was drawing to a close. Time spent looking for a better spot to make myself comfortable would have been wasted. Everything was soaked, not to dry until days after I returned home and laid out all the paper and supplies that I carried. Problems of the world by no stretch of the imagination, but aggravation for sure. We etch our memories with some sort of marker, holding a place in time for reasons very often unknown to us at the moment. For good and bad I have been witness to many such markers. Over the years I have learned—even when these moments are not so important—what it takes to push through the bad in hopes of reaching the good. Sometimes one flows into the other quicker than I can decipher which is which, but sometimes the rain comes down and I simply stay put, knowing it will let up before I get washed away.—Dominick