Today is 23 December - the deepest pit of the year. I'm remembering the stop it makes in the lowest point before swinging back in motion tomorrow. It's the day of death before rebirth.
Father Sun, may you be strong Father Sun, may you be bright Father Sun, may you burn Father Sun, may you shine Father Sun, keep me strong Father Sun, keep me bright Father Sun, keep me burning Father Sun, keep me shining
The joy of rain as I'm walking down the cold street, with freezing droplets occasionally stinging my face, even though I'm carrying an umbrella. The joy of watching the myriads of neon lights reflecting in the myriads of puddles created in every tiniest hollow in the ground. But above all, the joy of the monotonous sounds of the raindrops beating gently against everything in their way, the steady whisper accompanying just another normal evening in the life of the city. On my way, there will be only one stop to make - the supermarket: I need to buy a few bags of strong tea. This is going to be a long evening at work.